“Lee.” She poked at a charring hot dog, turning it over.
“I told you, I ain’t havin you hurt.”
She kept fiddling with the grill. The buns looked toasted enough, so she pulled them off, and he held another platter for them. “It’s just a suggestion, Lee.”
“Ma’am?” Carline was at her elbow. “You need some help?”
A salad and a long vacation is what I need. Some white wine would go down really easily, too. Or maybe a shot of something stronger. “I’m all right. What have you guys been eating?”
“Oh, whatever we’ve a mind to.” Carline’s teeth gleamed. Some people were jsut natural optimists, and she looked like one. “Be good to have something regular-like, though. I thought I’d never get sick of Pringles, but there’s only so much a body can eat.”
“I’ll bet.” Ginny found herself smiling, again. Pringles sounded good, too. No fiber in those, though.
Lee regarded her steadily, and got quiet.
Again.
Batter Up
One moment he was off watch, rolling into his sleeping bag in the manager’s office. The next, Lee was awake, his heart in his throat, Mark Kasprak’s fingers sinking into his shoulder with hysterical strength. “Lee,” the kid whisper-yelled, his breath touching Lee’s cheek. “Mistah Lee, wake up.”
Lee’s fingers loosened on the knife’s hilt; he slid it back into the sheath under his pillow and sat up, nearly cracking foreheads with Kasprak. Cold air touched his bare arms—sleeping in his jeans and a T-shirt wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing in the world, but it wasn’t quite pillows and bacon, either. “What?” he barked, and the sudden change in Juju’s breathing was as loud as a shout.
“They’re at the door.” The words whistled, probably because Mark’s throat was constricted with terror. “They’re pushing.”
Jesus Christ. Lee thrashed free of the sleeping bag, and his boots were right where they should be. He got his sock feet jammed in and everything tied in a trice, snagged his sidearm, and was on his feet heading for the office door while Juju cussed in an undertone. “How many? How many, Mark?”
“I…I dunno, a lot—”
Lee grabbed the kid’s arm. “Get to the girls.” The ladies were all in the breakroom, new additions to the group meaning there was no longer space for everyone in there. “Bang on that door, you wake em up, and you get inside and lock it again, you hear me? Juju, incoming!”
“On it, Loot.” Thank God, the man was steady.
“Go.” Iron in his mouth, Lee pushed Mark out the door and to the left. The employee breakroom here wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the last place, but they could brace the door and hold out for a while, depending on the situation. Lee turned hard right, and the darkness was a wet bandage against his eyes. No flashlight, but he’d counted the ancient, linoleum-slick stairs after dinner and on his way back from watch, a habit burned into him from night-time drills. Another hard right at the bottom, another door that could be braced if shit went even further sideways, and he pounded down a short hall past the two customer restrooms. Smacking his shoulder against the wall at the end of the hall, sweeping what he could see with night vision and his sidearm—should have grabbed his own goddamn rifle, but Juju would bring it.
This was better for close work, anyway. Muzzle flash and the noise were a factor here.
Juju clattered up. “Behind you,” he said, clear but low, and from there it was old work, clear and move, clear and move, pounding heart and adrenaline a coppery slick on the back of his tongue, skin tight with cold and danger.
It felt familiar, if not comfortable. Like this was where he belonged.
They were at the front door, a clot of shambling critters pressing against the glass. Stiffened, sausage-clumsy fingers worked wormlike across the clear surface, and Lee was faintly glad it was dark because fuck if he had to see that wall of rancid flesh in daylight…well, it was enough to unsettle a man’s stomach. A faint scratching and waxy squeak-noises from their bloated fingertips on the dry slick glass echoed in eerie snowbound silence—it was still coming down out there, big fluffy flakes whirling and reflecting what little light there was.
Automatic doors could be opened from inside, it was in the fire codes. The critters were working against the hinges and their uncoordinated surging added to slipping feet meant it wasn’t time to worry just yet.
Just as he decided that, though, two of the critters leaned at the same time, and their weight wrung a slight groan from the metal frame. It was like those sales after Thanksgiving, everyone crowded at a box store entrance, not caring what the discount was as long as there was one.
The noise maddened the creatures. They heaved forward as one, straining, and the metal frame made another groan. How many were there? Ten? A dozen? More?
“Oh, shit,” Juju whispered, hunching for cover; neither of them had ever sheltered behind a cash register before. First time for everything.
“How long you think that door’ll last?” Lee whispered back.
“Not long enough.” Juju raised his rifle, slowly, a man caught in a bad dream.
He was right. Once the frame gave the glass was a goner, then there’d be hungry critters inside the store. However many there were, it wasn’t likely to be a good time. There wasn’t much around to brace the front doors with; he should have thought of that. But the things had never acted like this before.
They heaved again. Juju socked the rifle to his shoulder. “Lee?”
“No.” Lee decided. His brain was working fast enough, or so he hoped. “Not yet.”
Juju hoped so, too, but was apparently not quite convinced. His eyes gleamed in the faint snowlight. “We just gonna wait?”
“Bottle ’em there.” He holstered his sidearm and took his own rifle. “Go get a bat or two. We can choke ’em in the door.”
“What if they’s more behind ’em?”
That was the last thing he wanted Juju worrying about. God and sonny Jesus knew Lee was worried enough about it for both of them. “I got ammo, I’ll be just fine. Go on, now.” Lee lifted his own rifle, his breathing settling.
Juju’s boots squeaked as he took off. The door’s metal frame groaned again, and a long silvery crack grew up the middle of the left-hand glass panel, blooming into tree-branches at the top. Looked like either they’d figured out how to heave together—probably quicker than healthy people could—or any noise made them frantic and they scrabbled for the source. What fixed their attention on the door? He had questions for Kasprak.
Just as soon as he survived this.
Now they began that grinding, growling noise, and he realized they’d been silent before. More cracks bloomed on the big sheet-panes. Didn’t look like safety glass. A lawsuit waiting to happen if someone walked through, but really, who could have expected shambling not-quite-dead critters? Were they still alive? Ginny’s voice floated through his head—metabolically expensive.
Thank God she was behind a locked door.
Except she wasn’t, because he heard voices behind him, just as the glass decided its duty was done and shivered into long shards.
Female voices. Looked like nobody had enough sense to stay put while he and Juju dealt with this.
“Batter up!” one of the girls yelled, and Lee swore.
Carline’s cheerleader yodel got the critter’s attention, and the redhead in a too-big blue Gap sweatshirt laid about her with more enthusiasm than skill. Mandy, in a tank top, flannel overshirt, and a pair of brand new but untied Nikes, moved in with a Louisville slugger, swinging from the hip and splattering spongy skulls with long efficient swipes. Mark lost his dinner next to a checkstand and waded back into the fray, grimly determined, and Steph’s night-time braids bounced as she darted in and out, smacking heads. Ginny, deathly pale in sock feet, her hair a wild cloud of curls, clutched at a bat, looking for an opportunity that never came.
The kids had this handled. It was, Lee thought, pretty goddamn terrifying. He couldn’t get a clear shot with the young ’u
ns clustering the door. Juju had a big old Fenix lantern picked up somewhere, and he’d thought to grab it so the kids could see what they were hitting. Or maybe he’d brought it down thinking to headlight the critters. Either way, its dancing glare splashed over writhing limbs and flickering bats. The broken door kept the things coming through one at a time, working slowly through the mass of others trying to widen the breach, and Lee cast around for something to block the hole. All Lee could see that might possibly serve was the display of charcoal and firewood, so he kept looking. Bargain Zone had a hardware section, but no lumber.
“Get it!” Carline yelled, but Mandy was ahead of her, crushing the last one’s head. The smell might have been bad except for the refrigerator cold. Grey matter and blackish blood flew; Steph let out a short disgusted sound as splatter painted the large, wafer-thin, rubbery mat meant to catch slush and pebbles before they could be tracked in. The bone chips weren’t ivory, or maybe it was the light.
The corpses looked wrong.
“Thirteen,” Mark said, in a high unsteady voice. “Baker’s dozen.” He whacked a questing, skeletal, rotting hand away from Steph’s ankle with a short, popping strike.
“Don’t get it on you!” Ginny wasn’t hysterical, but it sounded a near thing. “It could be communicable—”
“Mothafuckas.” Carline didn’t care about hygiene at the moment. The redhead had a mouth on her, that was for damn sure. “Not in my house!”
“Swing-batta-batta,” Mandy chanted, stepping back and surveying their work. Her beaded braids clicked against each other. Calm, efficient, methodical, and barely sixteen, she smacked heads with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of force. Lee got the idea this wasn’t her first time.
He could almost hear his grandfather’s snort and almost-constant refrain of Kids these days. Lee let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding. “That it?”
“Looks like.” Carline peered at the hole in the door, now almost fully plugged by critter bodies, and swung her dripping bat with a pro’s thoughtless, testing motion. “I knew they’d eventually figure out a door. Didn’t I tell ya?”
“Mh.” Mandy agreed with a short sound, all her attention on the pile of carcasses, watching for motion.
Mark retched again, his head hanging, the drenched business end of his bat smearing linoleum, and scrubbed the back of his free hand across his slack mouth.
“Water.” Ginny held her own weapon gingerly. She hadn’t even had a chance to use it, and from the awkward way she kept it at arm’s length, it was a good thing. “Soap. And hand sanitizer.”
“Jesus, kids.” Juju shook his head. He’d only gotten a couple taps in, when one looked likely to slip-scramble to the left over the mound of spongy flesh. “I think they’re dead.”
“Make sure they know it.” Carline brought her bat down smartly on a female in a flopping red and blue muumuu, its chest still vibrating with a final growl. “Hey, shine the light. Mandy?”
“Can’t see.” Mandy now peered through the jagged hole in the door. The dead were stacked like cordwood, caught trying to wriggle over each other to get in. They could rig something around the bodies to block the hole, keep the worst of the cold out too.
Lee shook his head. He’d seen carnage before, but this was…something else. The critters just kept coming, even though the ones in front got their heads bashed in and fell, blocking the aperture. They came right on over their compadres, mindless and chewing. “Mark? Mark, you with me?”
The boy shook his spiky dark head, staring at the floor. “Thirteen,” he muttered. “Lucky number. Baker’s dozen.”
“Kasprak.” Lee approached him cautiously. The girls ringed the dead bodies, their bats ready, and Carline let out a harsh little giggle.
“Huh?” Mark looked up. His eyes were wide and haunted, his mouth loose. “Mr Lee?”
For some reason, that made Carline laugh even harder, and Mandy too. Steph caught on a second after they did, and it was goddamn chilling all the way around to hear young women laughing like that. A chorus of sweet high voices, spilling out into the deadening snowfall.
Lee had a question he needed answered. “What set them off?”
“I dunno. I did a circuit of the store like Mr Thurgood tole me. On the hour.” Mark shook his head, like whipping away water or a bad thought. His mouth worked a little, turning loose, but he swallowed, buttoned up, and went on. “One round, nothin there but snow. Next time, they were all standing under the roof there, in the dry bit. All in a group, standing there and sorta swaying-like. Then they started movin, and one of em—that one, I think—sort of like he was drunk, kind of bounced off the door.”
“Herd behavior,” Ginny muttered. “I’ll go find some soap.”
“I’ll go with,” Steph piped up.
“Then they all started pushing…” Mark shook his head again, a galvanic shudder running all the way down his bony body. His boots moved uneasily. He almost retched again, his Adam’s-apple bobbing, and his chin lifted. He glared at Lee, and it was official, the boy was growing up the way a green grunt did all at once if he survived his first kill.
“You didn’t catch their attention?” Lee ached for the kid, really. Could he even remember the moments after his first? It would take some doing, digging in that mental vault. He only remembered the prickling relief when he went numb. “Bang on the door? Anything?”
“Nosir.” Mark blinked, sense coming back home to roost behind his dark gaze. “You think I would?”
Lee exhaled, rubbing at his forehead. “Just wonderin why they suddenly wanted in.”
“Maybe it’s the weather.” Juju stared at the bodies. He wasn’t wild-eyed, but it was close, and his hair, getting longer, was a short-curled halo. The lantern bobbed, casting crazy shadows over the tangled bodies, dappling the snow and pavement outside. Lee was feeling pretty goddamn wild-eyed himself.
“I know I’d want to get inside.” Carline swung her bat, a tiny twitching movement. Critter-blood splattered. “It’s cold.”
“You’re in your sock feet,” Mandy pointed out, helpfully. “Get some shoes on. There’s plywood in the back.”
Good time to let me know. Lee’s relief was hot, sharp, and entirely out of proportion. Nobody was dead, nobody was bitten. Well, except the assholes stacked in the door. “Is there?”
“Yeah, they had it for when the parking lot iced over and stuff.” Mandy let out a long, shaky breath, the first sign of nerves she’d shown.
“I’m not stupid,” Mark said suddenly. The cuff of his new flannel shirt flapped a little, probably splattered with gore now. “I wouldn’t do anything like that.”
Juju glanced at the kid. “I know.” It was his job to smooth out troubled nerves, while Lee made the decisions. Habit was a bastard, it kept grinding its way in even when you set it down and left it alone for years. Had he or Juju really left the Army behind?
It sure as shit didn’t feel like it nowadays.
“I know too, Mark.” The words were heavy on Lee’s tongue. He hoped he sounded something other than exhausted and jangled. “Miss Mandy, you wanna show me the plywood? Best we close this up soon.”
That brought up another problem, and Juju arrived there first. “I ain’t touchin those, Lee. Sorry, but I ain’t.”
“It’s all right.” Lee tried not to sigh. “We’ll brace the door. They plugging it up anyway.” And tomorrow we can get the hell out of here. If the snow ain’t too deep.
He was beginning to think maybe they’d survived when one of the bodies twitched. Carline jumped, let out a soft, ugly little cry, and brought her bat down again. A sponge-boned skull spattered into pieces.
Kids these days, Lee thought grimly. Anyone left alive was gonna grow up right quick. Or die.
With that cheerful thought to keep him company, Lee turned to the next problem in front of him.
Sweetheart Honeypot
Up in the employee breakroom, with an electric lantern glowing in the corner, the two girls got their bed
s re-settled.
“What do you think?” Carline Goldisch bit her soft bottom lip, worrying. Her front two teeth were slightly crooked, and she had a habit of running her tongue over them when concentrating. It was the first thing Mandy had noticed about her, the first thing that made her neck go hot and her hands not know what to do with themselves. “Should we go with ’em?”
“They seem okay,” Mandy Hopper said, slowly. She settled her sleeping bag—the foam pads were a good idea, and the Travellers had extra. It was good they didn’t mind sharing. “But New York? We should go to Atlanta, if we’re gonna go anywhere.”
“Maybe. But what if…” Carline scooted her own bag closer, pushing the pad snugly into the corner. She liked sleeping sandwiched between the wall and Mandy. It made her feel safer, she said. Her hair lay on her shoulders, its coppery gleam dulled a little but the texture a whole lot easier to work with since she’d tried the cornstarch method Mandy used on her own head. “We can’t stay here. Not all winter.”
“Oh, we could.” Mandy smoothed her pillow. The teacher lady had told them to wash up first, and was putting the rest of them through a cold-water scrubbing downstairs. We don’t know how contagious this is, she’d said, which made for some bad thoughts. “But what about after? That worries me.”
“If we go with, you think they’ll be mean?” Carline hopped onto the foam pad, punched her pillow twice, and wormed into her bag. “About us?”
That was one thing the End Times had saved them from—whispers at school, the shoves and nasty comments in the lunchroom, and Carline’s fundamentalist mama with her suspicious glares, hornrim glasses, and double-scrubbing every dish Mandy touched in their trailer. As if she was better than Mandy’s mama and daddy, who even if they yelled and made her cut the yard had their own house on Sellwyn Avenue, neat and trim and tidy.
Or they had, until the bad stuff started happening. Now there were no parents, no school, no mean kids to pull on your braids or ask you what rhymed with lesbo. And, best of all, no church on Sundays, where people shouted and jumped like they was having a good time, then went home and did awful things once the front door closed behind them.
Roadtrip Z (Season 3): Pocalypse Road Page 6