DEAD: Snapshot (Book 3): Liberty, South Carolina

by TW Brown

  “Yeah,” the chief snorted, “I realize that the Titanic is sinking, but at least we have plenty of ice.”

  The pair headed over to the high school stadium where booths had been set up for people to sign in each day and fill the various work crews. That was one thing that had been decided upon quickly. Pretty much everybody able to walk was put to work. There was no job too small, and everybody was pitching in.

  They stopped at the roving patrol sign-up booth and the chief grabbed the list of names. He had been put in charge of the town’s security force.

  “That reminds me.” Jamie nodded to his list of names. “We will look for anyplace that might have ammunition. Sporting goods stores, the Walmart—”

  “I keep tellin’ ya that I am willing to bet that place has been emptied of anything useful.” The chief rolled up the list of names and tucked it in his shirt pocket.

  “Agree to disagree,” Jamie said as she patted the man on the shoulder and headed over to grab the roster of those who would be joining her on this little journey.

  ***

  “I realize this is your mission,” Stephen Deese did his best not to sound annoyed as he squatted down in the tall grass beside Jamie Burns and brought his binoculars up to his eyes. “I just think you might be pushing the envelope a bit too much.”

  Jamie did not respond as she looked through her field glasses as well. The smoldering ruins of what had once been a Walmart Superstore sat in the distance, smoke still curling up from it as well as the other smaller stores that shared the large lot with the mammoth building.

  The group of ten were just to the right of another building that had been a casualty of a fire: The Waffle House. Jamie had pulled their convoy over just as they came off the highway despite it being what Stephen considered an obvious waste of time. He could tell from a few miles out that there was not likely to be much waiting for them when they arrived.

  “Then we press on closer to Clemson. The Lowe’s is not far. Hopefully we will have better luck there.” Jamie got up and stalked away.

  It was obvious that she was more than just disappointed. She seemed to be angry. He would do as the chief had asked and keep an eye on the young lady. She was plenty smart when it came to running a town and implementing plans. He was not as confident in her ability out in what was fast becoming an apocalyptic wasteland.

  Everybody piled in to the large trucks, Stephen driving the huge flatbed that they hoped to load to capacity with goods. As they drove, he saw zombies along the way; many would obviously take notice of the convoy and turn to follow.

  Shortly after passing the Clemson City Limits sign, they exited the highway and turned right. The Lowe’s stood at the head of a large entry drive. The parking lot was almost entirely vacant and the store was intact. Stephen glanced skyward and offered a quick thanks to whomever or whatever might be watching over them.

  As they pulled into the lot, he spun the truck around and backed up to the large, home and garden gate. That seemed to be closest to what they were actually here for. Glancing around, he only saw a couple of lone zombies making their way for the new arrivals. He looked over at the young man in the passenger seat and considered if it might not be a better idea to handle it himself, but at last decided that he would be more helpful if he took part right away in the loading of things onto the truck.

  “Go take down those stragglers,” Stephen told the young man as he hopped out of the cab. He half expected the guy to gripe or complain, but it seemed that the zombie apocalypse was shaping people up in a quick hurry.

  He watched the young man draw his spiked club and jog over towards the closest zombie. Satisfied that the job was in hand, he walked over to the other eight people standing around the locked metal gate to the massive, open garden area.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Stephen asked as he joined everybody.

  “Locked,” one of the women groused.

  Stepping past the small group of people, Stephen pulled a foot long metal bar from his hip and jammed it into the lock, after a few good jerks, the lock popped and the door swung open. He stepped aside and threw up his arm in a flourish. “The store is now open.”

  He saw sheepish looks being exchanged by several of the group—including the mayor. Despite people coming to grips with the fact that the dead were getting up and attacking the living, people were still having a problem overcoming certain social norms. The chief had made a joke after his first trip out for trucks that he had never arrested anybody for grand theft auto, and now he was committing the crime several times a day.

  “We are going to have to readjust our thinking on what constitutes good and bad,” Ivan Potter had chimed in.

  Slowly, the group headed in to the open aisles of the lawn and garden area. The first priority was seeds and fertilizer. He paused when two of the ladies stopped at a carousel displaying a huge variety of vegetable seed packets. They were picking through and putting the packs in the basket they had each snagged. Stephen stepped past them, grabbed the entire display and started carrying it to the truck.

  Things started moving a lot faster after that.

  It was only a moment or so later when the young man he’d sent to take down the stragglers came jogging back. “Hate to be the bringer of bad news, but I think some of those things followed the truck. I would guess around thirty or forty.”

  “Alright, everybody,” Stephen called. “We got incoming. I need four people to come with me to take them down while the rest of you keep loading the truck.” He felt his jaw clench a little when his eyes met those of Jamie Burns.

  She was glaring at him, and he actually knew why and saw her side of it. This was her operation. She had planned it and made the list of people to come along. Here he was stepping in and calling the shots. The thing was, he just could not get past seeing her as a young lady fresh out of college with almost no life experience and a whole bunch of education that meant absolutely nothing in this new world that was unfolding before them.

  “Hey, Burns, if you have a handle on things here, I will give you as much time as possible.” Stephen mentally crossed his fingers and hoped that little offering was enough so that she felt like she was still running the show.

  “Yeah…fine.” The woman didn’t even bother glancing back as she headed for the glass double-doors that opened to the actual store.

  He wanted to suggest that she confine this run to what they could get out here in the open lawn and garden showplace, but he figured he’s stepped on her ego enough today and pointed to the group that he would be bringing with him to take on the small pack of approaching zombies. Still, something was nagging at him about what she was doing. Yes, he’d been to this store a few dozen times and knew that there was a wall of gardening tools just inside that side entrance to the actual store that would probably come in handy. The thing was, most folks in Liberty had that sort of equipment lying around, or in their garages and sheds.

  He and his group were halfway across the huge, open parking lot when the sounds of an alarm began to blare. He skidded to a stop and spun back to face the store. That had been what was bothering him. Sure, it wasn’t like there would be any police dispatched to the scene; but in this new level of quiet that had fallen over a dead world…sound carried much farther.

  “Screw it, ladies and gentlemen,” Stephen shouted. “Everybody back to the vehicles. We are out of here.”

  “But we can still take these down and give the group enough time to fill up the trucks,” the young man that he’d initially sent to deal with the two zombies called back.

  “And perhaps get trapped by who knows how many more of those things that are now heading this way because of that alarm?” Stephen shook his head.

  While not all of them seemed convinced that they needed to abandon this run, the group turned around and started back for the store. As they reached the open gate, Jamie and the others were all rushing out with pushcarts loaded with as much stuff as people could stack and still be able to move.


  “I didn’t think,” Jamie said, her face crimson with embarrassment.

  “None of us thought of that,” Stephen replied, hoping that might smooth over her feelings from earlier.

  It wasn’t that he felt he needed to coddle her. It was just that, if they were going to have a chance at surviving this disaster, then everybody needed to work together and get along as well as possible. He knew that from his time overseas. He’d been with a squad that did not get along with each other, and it had damn near gotten all of them killed out in the field.

  Everybody began tossing things up to the two people who had climbed up into the back of the flatbed. It was not long before they had everything loaded. Stephen looked at the pitiful haul they had managed to acquire and did his best to push aside his disappointment.

  Still, they had at least come away with something, and up to this point, nobody had been hurt or killed. He had a feeling that was something they needed to be happy about. It was definitely going to get a lot harder from here on out.

  The trucks rolled out of the parking lot, swerving and weaving to dodge the undead that had come in behind them. They hung a left on Issaqueena Trail and then north on Highway 123.

  ***

  The four big Harley Davidson Ultra Classics roared out of the Cottages of Clemson development and turned right on Old Shirley Road. Curls of smoke were just starting to rise up from a handful of the residences at their collective backs. The foursome stopped at the intersection and one of the riders raised his hand, giving the signal for the others to kill their engines.

  Pulling off his helmet, the one who signaled cocked his head to the side and listened. The other three did likewise and all turned to the left towards the sound. This man was the tallest of the gang, standing just over six foot three. His eyes sparkled with mischief and he always seemed to look like he was thinking of something humorous as a smile continuously played at the corners of his mouth.

  “Somebody set off an alarm,” the rider who had called for the stop snorted as he checked the pistols he had on each hip. “That means walkers will be coming from every direction. I guess we bail on this little slice of heaven.”

  “Damn, Kevin, and we just started having fun,” one of the riders grumbled.

  “No worries, Trunk. We can—” the sounds of diesel engines up the road caused Kevin to stop talking. He eased his bike forward to get a better look at a small convoy rolled out onto the road in the distance and headed towards the highway. “See, Trunk?” Kevin turned to the man who had voiced his displeasure. A big grin split his face and his eyes crinkled with devious joy. “Looks like a new game just made itself available.”

  Mark “Trunk” Trees was by far the largest of the foursome. He looked like he spent a good deal of time in the gym before the zombies came. His arms were massive and veins ran like cords down his biceps as he unconsciously flexed his hands. His hair was a high and tight that would make any Marine proud. What little neck he had was hidden by massive shoulders that capped off his broad chest which he liked to show off; that was why he always opted for wearing an open leather vest with no shirt underneath.

  “I hope it is more fun than the last one,” another of the riders grumbled. He glanced over his shoulder from the gated community they were leaving. “Those college boys were a bunch of sissies. That last one started crying before we even hit him.”

  “Give the kid a break, Animal,” Mark chuckled. “He had just watched three of his friends get pulled apart.”

  “Yeah, well that brings me to another point,” Joe “Animal” Spencer said as he absently rubbed the leather saddlebag of his bike. “I get a leg next time. The arms come off too fast.”

  “No problem, Animal.” Kevin nodded.

  Joe “Animal” Spencer was tall and lanky. His arms and chest were covered with a variety of tattoos. His brown hair was shaved on the sides and the center was styled into a mohawk. He always wore a smile, but those who took a second to really look at the man’s expression could tell that it did not reach his eyes. The eyes gave the impression that true happiness had not touched his soul in a very long time.

  Kevin glanced over to the fourth rider who had remained silent through the entire exchange. Bob Capka was not one for too many words. In fact, the last few people who had heard him speak had started to cry after he pulled away from where he had been whispering in their ears. Kevin had no idea what the man said, and if he ever gave it a second’s thought, he would quickly tell himself that he didn’t want to know.

  Bob Capka was the shortest man of the foursome. His slight frame was deceptive and secreted under baggy clothing that hid a well-muscled frame. He had long curly hair that often hid his face when they were not on their bikes. Even before the zombies, Bob was never much of a talker. At least not out loud where a lot of people could hear him.

  Kevin recalled their most recent stretch in the Greenville County Detention Center. One of the loudmouths in their pod simply could not keep his mouth shut in the day room where the television was mounted. Bob had gotten up from his seat and walked over to the kid that Kevin guessed to be in his late teens or early twenties. The kid had started to “nut up” when Bob approached. It was clear that he thought a fight was about to break out. But Bob had just stared at the kid, arms folded across his chest. Eventually, when the kid had run out of steam and began to get nervous, Bob had gestured for the kid to lean forward. It was like watching a damn hypnotist, Kevin remembered thinking. Bob had whispered in the kid’s ear, and then just returned to his seat.

  The kid had left the day room. Not a peep was heard the rest of the night. When it was time to cell in for count, that was when things got crazy. All of a sudden, the cops were running into the pod after the one doing count had called for assistance. The kid had hung himself. Since he’d been alone in his cell, there was nobody to officially blame and it was called a suicide. Kevin knew better.

  Nobody in the pod said a word in the day room during television time for the rest of the duration that Kevin, Joe, Mark, and Bob were in the lock up. Kevin couldn’t swear, but he thought he actually heard a few people sigh with relief when the four were done with their time.

  “I say we follow those trucks,” Kevin announced cheerfully. “I bet they are heading back to someplace with more people. Besides, I think Clemson is burned out. It took us four days to find that last little group that was trying to hide out. Hardly worth the time and effort.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Mark said with a shrug.

  “Beats doing nothin’,” Joe chimed in.

  Bob popped his bike into gear and started off in the direction that the trucks had gone. Kevin smiled and jammed his head back into his helmet. “I guess that’s a yes from Bob.”

  The four bikes roared along until they neared the driveway that the trucks had exited. Dozens of zombies were stumbling out, obviously drawn by the departing trucks that had just left.

  Bob had already stopped, shut down his bike, and climbed off. He was standing in front of a lone zombie. It would reach for him with slow, clumsy attempts and he would bat the arms down and push it away. This part always sort of creeped Kevin out.

  For some reason, Bob always wanted to toy with the first zombie he was about to kill whenever they encountered a group. The way he tilted his head first one way and then the other was a lot like the zombies themselves; which made what he was doing even a bit more creepier.

  Joe was second to arrive and got off his bike. He had a huge knife in one hand and a three foot long metal spike in the other. As he passed Bob, he jammed his spike into the zombie’s temple.

  “Jeez, Bob, just kill the damn things,” Joe snorted as he stepped up to the next one and brought his knife up under its chin, driving it to the hilt and then jerking free in one swift motion.

  Kevin held his breath for a moment and watched Bob. The man had turned and was watching Joe wade in and start taking down the leading zombies of this small mob. After a moment, Bob headed over to one of the walk
ing dead, an elderly woman who was reaching with her gnarled hands as he stepped up to her with his aluminum baseball bat. With one swing, he snapped the knee inwards and sent the body to the ground. Moving methodically, he stood over the downed figure and then used the barrel end of his bat like a pile-driver and smashed it down once…twice…three times until the skull burst open like an overripe melon.

  Kevin let out the breath that he had not been aware he was holding. Setting the stand for his bike, he hopped off and turned to look at his array of weapons. Besides the pistols he wore at his hips (and only used in an emergency since gunshots seemed to bring out zombies by the hundreds), he had three machetes, a very nice saber that he took off a zombie that had been dressed up as some Civil War re-enactor, two batons removed from a pair of zombie policemen that he had left dangling from a bridge by a length of cable around their ankles, and a briefcase full of assorted knives.

  Cupping his chin with his right hand, he absently stroked his reddish-blond goatee as he considered his options. At last, he decided on the saber. It was just too nice not to get some serious use.

  Clipping the scabbard to his heavy leather belt, he drew the weapon and slashed at the air a few times to warm up his arm. Lunging and dancing back and forth like any of the swordsmen he had ever seen on television or in the movies, punctuating each movement with a “Ho!” or a “Ha!”

  “You gonna screw around all day, or are you gonna step in here and get to killin’?” Mark snapped as he grabbed a teenaged boy version of the undead by his hair and drove the knife in his hand deep into the side of its head.

  “Oh…sorry,” Kevin laughed.

  He jogged over to the closest zombie and went into a whirling spin just as he got within range. His saber bit deep into the shoulder of the zombie. The man in the tattered business suit did not even seem to notice as he reached out for Kevin with grasping hands that brushed his heavy leather jacket.