Dylan climbed back into the van, a thin line of sweat on his brow. “Hot out there.”
Klaus waited for him to mention the zombie, but he hadn’t noticed. “We have a problem out there.” Dylan raised his eyebrows. Klaus pointed. Kristy followed his finger, too. “Only one so far.”
“It’s a type two,” Kristy said.
“A what?”
“They can handle a basic weapon, have more perceptive senses than the type ones, but are nowhere near a type three.”
“Harris talked about them. You’ve come across these before?”
“Yes.” Kristy pressed her face against the window. “They possess more faculties: basic understanding, comprehension, and limited problem solving. If we just wait, it might disappear.”
Dylan snapped open the chamber of the gun. “Let me kill the fucker. I’ll go out there and blow its head off.”
“No.” Kristy put a hand on his arm. “Don’t. Let’s wait and see.”
“And give it the chance to get hold of one of us?” Dylan made for the door with the shotgun raised.
“You shoot that and we’ll have company. They have an acute sense of hearing and smell. The shot will draw them, and the dead body.”
Dylan screwed up his face. “What do you suggest then?”
“Don’t engage yet. Just leave it like Kristy said.”
The kids were kneeling on the seats and leaning against the curtains at the wide window running along the length of the kitchen table. Julie remained at the sink washing dishes, but she kept glancing over her shoulder. Klaus read the anxiousness in her posture and expression. The zombie’s presence made her uncomfortable. He felt for her. She had lost her husband to these things—all she had cherished in the world, all that she had known for so long. Klaus had a similar reaction when someone mentioned the word cancer, the disease that had taken his mother.
Klaus stood, went to Julie, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched. “We’ll be okay. It’s outside, and we’re in here.”
She nodded, wiping over the sink. “I know, but… I just hate them. I hate them all. I’d kill every last one of them if I could.” Her bottom lip trembled. He had not met her late husband, but knew from the way she had adored him, and by the accounts of the others, that he had been a special person. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
“They’re vermin. I’d run them all over if I thought it would help.”
Whilst he understood her hatred and sympathized with Julie, Klaus saw another side to the affliction, and wanted her to see that, too. He was sick too; as was Dylan. Would she be so quick to kill him, or Dylan, knowing what they might turn into? Had she thought about her husband and what had become of him? What if he had turned, too?
“It’s not their fault.” She stiffened. “They were all children, or mothers, wives or sisters, at some point. We need to keep that in mind. I agree, they’re best all killed, but don’t hate them for what they’ve become. None of them asked for it.”
The fire in her eyes softened. She unclenched her fist and laid it on the sink. “I know that. Believe me, I ask myself every day what happened to Eric. Did he turn into one of them?” She fought her emotion. “I hope not. But it’s difficult to see past what they look like.”
“That’s the challenge in life, isn’t it? Seeing past people’s physical appearance or actions brought on by things out of their control. The disabled person. Somebody who looks different. The crime of someone who has faced sufferance via their victim. I’m not saying we treat these things any different, but just don’t hate the people they were, the things they’ve become.”
The edges of Julie’s mouth curved up slightly. “You’re right. Thank you, Klaus. I hope you find whatever you’re looking for in this world. I’ll take the kids into the bedroom. Keep them away from it.” She threw an arm around each of them, kissing the top of Jake’s head, and they disappeared behind the curtain.
Klaus went to the window. The zombie stood on the curb, nose in the air, looking from the shop front to the van. “Its sense of smell is far more acute than that of a dog,” Klaus said with admiration.
They watched it for several minutes before it started for the van. Dylan stiffened. Kristy went to the sink and removed a long blade knife from the block.
“Just wait a moment,” Klaus said. He was still worried about drawing others. “It may—”
“More,” Kristy said. “Down the street.”
She was right. Klaus counted eight wandering in a broken line along the curb beneath the store awnings. One gnawed on an arm.
“Oh shit,” Dylan said. “We’ll need more guns.”
Kristy bent to a bag near the door and removed a 9mm handgun. Klaus knew she had been an emergency doctor in the previous life, but now she looked Army-trained. He wished he’d been able to adapt like that.
The first zombie closed in on the van. Blue Boy began to growl. Dylan squatted beside him and curled an arm around his neck. The feeder reached the driver’s side and stood sniffing the air. Klaus noticed the window had been left down. The zombie put its hands on the glass and stuck its head through the opening.
Dylan squatted and crept forward, pointing the gun towards the window. The zombie’s legs slapped against the side of the van as it tried to climb in.
A gunshot sounded from inside the supermarket.
The zombie fell backwards out of the window and took off across the curb towards the sliding doors. Nearby, the other group closed in on the campervan.
ELEVEN
Evelyn suspected that the situation was about to intensify. They drove their trollies down the aisles, collecting the remaining goods on their list. Underlying, she felt the rush of killing the zombie and saving Callan, but it was slowly fading with the reality of what the infected man said.
“This way,” Callan said, spinning his trolley in a circle as they added tins of pineapple juice to the unsteady pile. Evelyn followed as they joined Gallagher and Greg from the other direction. She thought they were lucky not to have found another zombie in the store, although, in her short experience, where there was one, there were always more.
As they approached the cash registers, another feeder had managed to pry the entrance open and shuffle into the store. Beyond, a group of them reached the van, clubbing at the windows and door. She hoped Jake was safe in the van. Cold fear tightened around Evelyn’s belly. It was the facility all over again. The distraction lost her control of the trolley and it skewed towards the zombie. As she wrenched it back, she rammed it at the thing, knocking it backwards and sending it tumbling over a plastic Labrador waiting for coins to be slotted into its head for guide dog research.
“Hold tight,” Gallagher said. He hurried forward with the pistol in a two-handed grip and fired twice into its head.
“Leave the groceries,” Callan said, his trolley smashing against the wall in the corner. “They’ll need help outside.”
As much as Evelyn had fought bravely at the defense facility, a sickening fear seeped into her gut. She tried to recall what she had done in the last escape. It had been instinct, split-second decisions without thought of the risk to her. Be strong. She took the rifle in both hands and locked it in place.
Callan led them through the narrow opening to the wide concrete area underneath the supermarket awning. The zombies, hovering along the length of the camper, slapping their bloody, crusted hands against the side, turned immediately and came for them, their interest in the secured contents of the vehicle forgotten.
Evelyn stayed back, unable to gain a clear shot, as the others ran forward, firing into the group. Callan turned in a small circle, firing the handgun, altering his aim and firing again, blood and muck showering the air. Each shot was an episode in precision—no wasted movement or time, as though he had been doing it all his life. She realized his movement had a pattern, his body shielding her from the front.
The other two men did the same; Greg with the rifle, Gallagher with a handgu
n. In short time, they had laid the posse flat, a dread of gruesome bodies with the pavement and campervan painted in a layer of red, grimy fluid.
The door swung open. Armed with a handgun and a rifle, Dylan and Kristy spilled from the step, followed by Klaus, and Blue Boy, who ran straight for Callan.
“Jake?” Evelyn asked, running towards them.
“Fine. He’s fine,” Kristy said.
“We need to move,” Gallagher said. “There will be others here soon. They’re drawn by the smell of the dead and the sound of gunfire. You’ll have two dozen feeding on this lot within five minutes.”
“There’s a chemist just up the road,” Kristy said. “I need to get some more supplies.”
Gallagher wiped a forearm across his perspiring brow. “You’d better hurry.”
Kristy and Dylan left. “Can you go with them?” Callan asked Greg. He nodded and followed.
Evelyn, Gallagher, and Callan retrieved the trolleys from inside the store and parked them in a line outside the van. They had managed to find most of the essentials—flour, long-life milk, crackers, and plenty of pasta. Evelyn joined Julie as Callan and Gallagher handed stock from the trolleys in to them. As they worked, Julie spoke in a croaky voice. “I want to thank you. For not pushing me too hard last night.”
Evelyn placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Of course. I’ve been where you are. Good days and bad.” Julie nodded, pressing her lips into a line. “We need you, Julie. You’re a part of this group, an important part. We all look to you for something, especially Jake and Sarah.”
“I have to keep telling myself that, reminding myself that even though Eric and my kids are gone, I still have relevance in the world.” Tears spilled as she spoke. She wiped both eyes with the palm of one hand. “I know Eric forced me to come along with you all. Who knows what would have happened if we didn’t? At first, I blamed Callan for it, but Eric decided. He thought it was the best thing for us, and I trusted his judgment for many years.”
“Things happen. Bad things. My husband died of cancer before any of this. He smoked cigarettes for years and I told him to stop, but he knew better.”
Julie tilted her head. “You poor thing.”
“Yeah. Both of us.”
They embraced, a mother and daughter kind of hug, and it felt good. Evelyn missed the affection of her loved ones; she needed the physical aspect. It was part of her. It annoyed Jake, and Cameron had only displayed affection knowing she needed it. Lately, there had been little about. As her arms tightened around Evelyn, she sensed Julie was the same, the squeeze just right. She had not expected much from Julie in the beginning; she had probably written her off, if she was honest, but Evelyn had a sense that there was more to this woman than they had seen. Eric was a wise, wonderful man, and she didn’t think he’d have stayed with Julie so long if she hadn’t possessed endearing qualities.
The remaining supplies wouldn’t all fit. They stacked four trolleys of groceries, and despite Julie and Evelyn piling them into the cupboards, they ran out of space. Callan and Evelyn drove the rest to the battered Toyota and loaded them into the rear.
“Thank you,” Callan said after stacking the last tins of fruit juice. “Back in the store. You helped out.”
“Saved your ass, you mean?”
Callan chuckled. “Oh, I’m gonna have that one hanging over me forever, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. I’ll milk it.” He made a mocking face. “I suppose you might have done the same once or twice though. Let’s call it even.”
For the first time, Callan smiled—really smiled—and the delight washed over Evelyn like the sun on a cold day. She found herself momentarily lost for words, and a thought struck her hard—but she squashed it, leaving it for later consideration, when the intensity of the moment—the situation of survival, had passed.
He frowned. “You okay?”
“Yeah. It’s… nothing.” She turned away. “Let’s get moving. I don’t like hanging around here.”
They hurried back to the camper where warmth and acceptance awaited. With incredible luck, she and Jake had found their place. They had taken them in with her faults and mistakes. She was contributing now and that made her relax. Perhaps most of all though, she thought Cameron would approve. He would have liked Callan and Kristy, Julie and Greg, and the others. He would tell her to stay close to these people. With them, she and Jake had a chance to survive.
Stocked with medicine and food, armed with ammunition, and all still alive, they would push on. They had come a long way in twenty-four hours, but she knew there was a long way to go.
TWELVE
Darkness came and went, followed by the blackness of a hot, moonless night, and a cool early morning. Still, Todd and Lenny hadn’t left the apartment to find food. They spent the evening and most of the night getting more bombed out of their minds, talking trash and cavorting with the girls from the apartment above. Following a sparing dinner, Lauren asked Todd to go out, and he promised they would after dark. They made excuses, as Lauren expected they would. They also made noise for most of the night—thankfully, Harvey hadn’t woken—and by the early morning hours, the group had fallen asleep. Lauren followed soon after, certain that Todd had cheated on her. But it bothered her little. She found all that remained of her feelings towards Todd were those afforded to any human being—simple decency. She would do nothing beyond that.
By mid-morning however, when they were still sprawled in a twisted mass beneath blankets and sheets and pillows in one corner of the lounge, Lauren decided it was time to break up the slumber party and start getting things into order. She knew they wouldn’t go out of their own volition; she had to force them, which meant another confrontation, and that would no doubt bring its own issues.
She fed Harvey, changed his nappy, and wrapped him tight in two light muslin cloths. He loved to squirm, and she found if she didn’t do the double wrap, he would wriggle free, and wake often. She slipped in his dummy and wrapped up the bag with the dirty nappy just as Claire entered.
“Breakfast is done. The last of the crackers.”
“Did you eat?” Claire looked away. “Claire?”
“What? Did you?”
Lauren hadn’t eaten for almost twenty-four hours. The hunger pangs had passed and she still had energy. If it went on for too long though, she’d feel lethargic.
“I have to make these guys go out and find us some food.”
“You know they were shagging last night?”
She stared at her friend. Claire was the most tactless person she had ever known, but at least you got the truth in one punch. “I didn’t. I suspected, but…”
Claire laid a gentle hand on her arm. There was a warmth in her eyes that unsettled Lauren. “He’s a fucking asshole. Forget about him.”
“I’ll get them up. We need food.”
“Good luck.”
Lauren walked out through the sitting room and into the kitchen. A sudden thought locked hold of her mind. It was crazy, but she knew if he got physical, nobody could stop him. She needed back up. From a wooden block on the bench, Lauren removed a carving knife and slipped it into the back pocket of her jean shorts.
In the lounge, bodies were heaped under the covers in a lumpy pile. She had no idea who was who. She peeled one of them back, hoping it was Todd, but instead found the blonde girl wearing only a pair of panties. She bit down her anger. Another time. She dropped the covers back over the girl’s breasts and lifted another section. Todd lay at an odd angle, his mouth open, chest moving slowly. A small pile of orange vomit surrounded his head. Disgusting. What the fuck had she ever seen in this guy? She poked him with her foot. “Todd?” Nothing. She did it again, feeling her anger spinning out of control. “Todd.” Stony. This time, she bent her leg back and rammed her sneaker into his shoulder.
He came awake suddenly, eyes wide and goofy. “Owwww.” He gawked around and found her looking at him. “What?” The dickhead probably still hadn’t realized she had kicked him, so she di
d it again. “Stop that!” Todd scrambled to his feet, baring teeth, and stood before her.
His short, wiry brown hair lay flat on his head. He hadn’t shaved for a week and now had a scruffy beard like a Neanderthal. She hated beards. His eyes were red, his skin blotchy. Her vision fell on a love bite halfway along his neck. Lauren swallowed, fighting the urge to pull out the knife and slice off his nuts. Instead, she pointed a finger at him.
“You two are going out to find some food and you’re not coming back without some.”
The sleepiness washed out of Todd’s eyes. Suddenly he was awake, standing before her. “Don’t you fucking tell me what to do. Those days are over. Why don’t you go out and get the food?”
Lauren stood there for a long moment stupefied by what he said. She kept repeating it, trying to understand how he said such things. All the time she had defended him to her friends and sometimes even his. All the things she had done for him: paid his study fees, fed and housed him, even clothed him when he ran out of cash. What a fool she was. The rage boiled up in her, jaw grinding, fists clenched. She heard Claire say something from behind, but it didn’t register. Her mind had separated—one part pained by what he said, the other infused with an uncontrollable rage. Before she knew it, the knife was out, pointed at him, blade thick and glistening.
Todd stepped back, his features taut and terrified. Lenny and the girls had woken and now stood off to the side, watching her with wide eyes. Blondie slipped a green t-shirt over her head.
“Hey, come on Lauren,” Lenny said. He was wearing only underpants. “What are you doing?”
A voice in her head did ask what the hell she was doing. A knife, pointed at her boyfriend (ex) and her baby’s father? She lowered it, hand falling to her side.
“Okay. No stabbings today.” Todd’s shoulders dropped. “Unless you don’t pull your weight and find some food.”
Invasion of the Dead (Book 3): Escape Page 7