Most of the carts were missing and he doubted anyone was doing a cart round up to bring them back in. People were probably grabbing them from outside anyhow. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Taking one from the corral, he winced at the racket the wheel made as he pushed it forward and knew for certain why no one had bothered to use it; it was for shit.
All of the merchandise that lined the entryway had been raided, bare tan shelves glaring at him in silent accusation. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t do it.”
Now, where would his wife had gone?
The clothing section had been rifled through, but there were still a ton of clothes lying about, no one had reached the point of wanting a new wardrobe yet. Broken cans and bottles littered the floor around the coolers, the cheap As Seen On TV products left exactly as they were, not even disturbed. He saw a sealer for preserving food and grabbed a couple of those, throwing it in the cart.
Lights were blinking over the registers, but he no one standing near any of them; it would be weird if there were, actually. A whole store full of employees would have been okay, but a single person standing at a register while people walked out with their carts of merchandise? That was someone to avoid.
The bakery cart was empty, and he instantly thought of bitching about there being no rotisseries ready for pickup, but what the fuck was the point?
Sporting goods or groceries, where would Carrie have headed to first?
Well, the gun in his waistband was worthless without bullets, so he decided to head there first, head over to the grocery portion of the store after. As much as he wanted to see them, to ensure that they were okay, to hold them in his arms, the calmness of his environment eased his tensions and gave him a false sense of security.
That’s when he realized, he didn’t need to wonder where his wife and kids were at. Taking out his phone, he dialed her number, a sound echoing in the distance off to his left, making his heart flutter with relief.
“You here yet?” Carrie asked, picking up for the first time since she’d hung up on him.
“I told you to stay home.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“I can see that,” he muttered under his breath. “What are you doing?”
“Getting what groceries I can. There’s plenty of milk and eggs. At least the power is still on. Anything in particular you want?”
“I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. Look, I’m going to go check out sporting goods. If you need me, call or holler, I’ll come running.”
“Okay,” his wife said, then hung up, clearly not worried at all about the situation they were in.
Grinding his teeth, he pocketed his phone and started towards the rear of the store. He saw a display of Excedrin on an end cap and grabbed five or six bottles, tossing them into the cart with little finesse. Pushing his cart a bit faster, he rounded the last corner in front of electronics and turned right. He saw the line of fishing rods on the rear wall of the store and his eyes tracked right to the glass gun cabinet by the sporting goods register. It had been broken into, it’s plastic racks empty.
Well, so much for that.
He leaned over the counter and looked at the shelves behind, his eyes scanning the ammo he saw there, relief flooding through him when he saw a bunch of 9mms hardly touched. The store probably didn’t sell that caliber of weapon, and it didn’t have enough bang for the rednecks that had raided these shelves. That was fine, the ten boxes he saw there were more than enough for his needs; he’d never be able to carry that many if on the run anyways.
Scooping them up, he opened one of the boxes and slid the tray out. Then he took the gun from his hip and popped the clip, thinking he should get a gun cleaning kit while he was at it. After he finished loading he slid it back in, checked to make sure the safety was on, then started looking through the rack on the right until his eyes landed on something he truly needed, a holster. He was not a fan of shooting himself in the nuts or ass, so he took one of the shoulder holsters, broke it out of its box, and slid it over his shoulders.
That’s when his eyes fell on a couple of air pistols lying discarded on the bottom shelf and scooped them up. They looked like the real thing enough to deter human foes, and in a pinch, might do at least something against the undead, but not likely. Still, you worked with what you had. He took some air cartridges and bb’s, then tossed them in the cart as well.
Feeling armed and better about himself, he turned to the rear wall, looked at the poles, and decided to grab one more thing before he left. Loading up the bottom of the cart with bait, a reel, and all the other odds and ends he needed to go fishing, he grabbed a pole with little thought of what kind it was, only it’s purpose, and began walking back towards the grocery part of the store. He had what he needed. If they required anything else, he’d take a chance and come back later.
Walking down the aisle, he saw someone rooting through the power tools section, but he ignored them, he had waited long enough to see his wife and kids, it was time to bring an end to this odyssey he’d been on.
He slowed his pace as his wife came into view, her long blond hair pulled back, a big smile on her face. She had a dark blue flannel on and a pair of blue jeans, a rifle slung over her shoulder looking out of place and wrong. She had a cart full of groceries and was looking to the right at what had to be one of his children nearby.
Penny had blond hair like her mother, was just tall enough to reach her mother’s hip, and was wearing a light pink shirt and a pair of shorts. She was standing on the end of the cart, bouncing up and down, trying to get her mother’s attention.
He saw where they had come to a stop and shook his head, they were in front of the X-Box games. Really?
“We really don’t need any video games, you know?” he asked a little loudly, causing his wife’s eyes to shift his way.
He felt the warmth behind her smile and she looked like she wanted to rush forward to greet him, but his daughter had heard his voice as well, and had excitedly whipped around, dropped off the cart, and sprinted in his direction.
“Daddy!”
“Hey, Sweetie, how are you?” he asked, sweeping up his daughter and swinging her around excitedly.
“I’m good,” Penny giggled. “Ouch, that hurts! What have you got under your arms Daddy?”
“Nothing to worry about,” he whispered back, then set his daughter back on the ground.
Carrie was there with her arms open, and he stepped into them, allowing her to pull him close. “I made it Babe.”
A tear was making its way down either cheek as she grinned wider, “I can see that. I’m glad you’re home.”
“Well, our new home anyhow,” he needlessly corrected, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tight. “I won’t ever leave you three again.”
The sound of a bunch of games being dropped into his cart caught his attention and he looked down at his brown-haired son, his hazel eyes staring up at him with delight. “Look Daddy, all the games I want. No one cares!”
He laughed, reaching out and pulling his son close. “No, I guess not. I think we’ve got everything we need, why don’t we go home?”
Chapter 14
I
He parked behind the mini-van, the sight of the cabin giving some kind of finality to his journey. From Chicago to Denver, then the long road inbetween there and here, he had nearly died multiple times, seen things that he could never unsee, and acted in ways he never thought possible. He should feel like a stronger man for all of that, yet he felt nothing but remorse for his actions, sorrow for the world he had fled from, and worry in his heart over what came next.
Only the sight of his wife and kids getting out of the van eased the pain on his heart as he received a visual reminder of what he had done it all for. Putting the vehicle into park, he killed the engine, then took another look around at what had been his home for the last two days.
He would not miss it one bit.
Getting out of the SUV, he stood there and
stretched his back, his ass muscles looking forward to a bit of time without being planted in that infernal seat, his eyes roaming over the slight overgrowth of weeds in front of the porch and trying his best not to think about it. There were far more important things in the world right now than yard upkeep.
The dark brown porch matched the wooden side of the cabin, the four-bedroom house a bit larger than it’s few mates nearby, the shuttered windows looking down on him as if daring him to enter. An old spruce tree flowed with the wind in the center of the front yard, and he was filled with memories of the times he’d spent there with his parents when he was a child.
There were two other cabins in the area, one of which he knew was currently occupied. The Peterson’s car was in the driveway, but none of his family were in sight. The lighter brown cabin across the street looked empty and if it remained so over the next few days, he might break in there to see what supplies had been left behind by its owners. He had never met them himself and didn’t even know for sure that it was currently owned by anybody, but if he knew that if they didn’t show up soon, they wouldn’t be coming at all.
The dirt road wound its way through the woods from the highway to the nearby lake, his dad’s boathouse near the end; something else that he would have to check before long.
It could wait til tomorrow though. Today, he just wanted to go inside and spend time with his family; take joy in the fact that they were finally together. He and his wife needed to talk, and it was best to know what their plans would be before he got carried away settling in.
The main highway wasn’t that far away, the small town just a few miles down the road; they were not removed from civilization. Anyone really interested in doing so could find them and the secluded nature the cabin had always held for him was gone; he felt exposed.
Maybe heading out for that other group’s compound made sense. If anything, he could call the number he got later, get some particulars on it, that way he and his wife could make an informed decision.
“You going to stand there all day or come in?” Carrie called as she lifted a box of groceries from the rear of the mini-van and started her way up the steps. “I could use a hand, you know.”
“Yes Dear,” he said back, smiling at the dirty look he got. “Anything you say, Dear.”
“Keep it up buster. See if you get that warm welcome I know you’ve been hoping for,” she teased, playing off the horniness he’d always been known for.
Surprisingly enough, it had little effect, as he hadn’t even thought about sex since early the day before when Jessica had stroked his thigh. He physically shrugged off that memory and moved to the back of the van, snatched up a few bags of food, and began following his wife up the stairs towards the cabin’s front door.
It looked like the kids had made themselves at home, there were open chip bags and candy wrappers littering the floor in front of the television, the X-Box remotes still lit up, the kids having forgotten to turn them off before going to the store, their game still paused. Dead Rising 3, a little too on the point. Why had Carrie let them play that of all things?
There was a brown couch and love seat, an old recliner pulled forward a bit to see the television better, crochet blankets his grandmother made thrown on each to give it a more personalized touch. The fireplace in the corner hadn’t been used yet, the firewood holder empty. He didn’t have to get right on that, the nights weren’t entirely too cold here yet, but if they stayed he would need to go foraging soon enough.
I should have gotten a damned chainsaw while I was there.
He walked into the kitchen and set the bags down on the dining room table. The one thing his parents had planned for were long stays with no road access, so there were two refrigerators, an extra standalone pantry, and a large tank of gasoline to run the generators just off the back porch’s southern side. If they did hold up here, barring any intrusion from the outside, they could last months if supplied well enough before having to strike back out into the world.
He didn’t have faith they would last that long.
The one thing that was for sure in most of the zombie flicks he’d seen was that once they finished consuming all the food, they’d start moving into the countryside looking for more. They would live in constant fear that they’d wake up and find one staring in their bedroom window at them, or already inside and munching on their legs. They weren’t remote enough. Show Low might not be Phoenix or Los Angeles, but there were still over ten-thousand people living in the area and all it really took was one.
The odds against their ability to avoid the outbreak were impossibly low.
Having made several trips, his thighs were beginning to burn, and as he grabbed his suitcase and backpack, he paused for a second to catch his breath. The air was cool and clean, the smell of the woods a nice reprieve from the decay and gas fumes he’d been breathing in recently, and the world was starting to darken as late afternoon set in.
He glanced over at the other occupied cabin and noticed that none of the lights had come on and there were still no signs that anything had moved since they’d gotten there. They could be taking a nap, but still, it looked way too quiet for a family of five living there. If a kid was awake, all the lights in the house would be on. Running around in the dark was no fun, after all.
Dragging his suitcase up the stairs, he positioned it near the front door, put his hand on the screen door, and considered walking next door to make sure everything was okay. Carrie had mentioned seeing someone skulking around in the shadows. It may have been in her head, but what if it wasn’t? Things like that were easily dismissed when all things were normal, but now?
“Hey Babe, I’m going to see if Randy’s okay on supplies, tell them to hit the Wal-Mart while they can,” he told his wife, who was still in the kitchen sorting things out.
“Okay,” she answered as if it were nothing.
That was the point. No use worrying her until he had to.
He flipped the catch on his arm holster off but left the gun there, he didn’t want to appear threatening if one of the Peterson’s looked out and saw an armed man standing on their porch, gun drawn.
Walking back down the steps, he held onto the bannister and let it swing him around, his feet landing on the soft soil and scattering pine needles in their wake. He was trying to be positive, to not think of the horrible things he’d seen on the way here, but it was too soon, the experiences still fresh in his mind, and he couldn’t help but feel that he was not going to like what he found in that cabin.
The question was, how did it happen? Was it too late? Had the undead wandered this far into the wilderness already? It had been what, a day? Even if they had, why had they not attacked his family as well? It just didn’t fit.
“You sure you don’t want me to come with?” Carrie asked from the doorway, her face showing apprehension, as if just realizing what he was about.
He shook his head and smiled up at her. “It’s probably nothing. Just stay inside and lock the door. I’ll be back in a second.”
“Isn’t this a horror movie? You’re not supposed to say I’ll be back, that’s one of the rules,” she snarked.
“You’re not supposed to get laid either, guess no sex for you tonight?” he shot back.
The sour look she gave was enough of an answer and her smile faded slightly. She closed the door and he waited to hear the door lock click before moving forward once more.
He had maybe another half an hour of daylight left, he definetly didn’t want to be out here after dark. Walking over to Randy’s X-Terra, he put a hand on the hood and felt for the temperature of the engine; it was cold. If they had gone somewhere, it had more than likely been on foot. Maybe they were down at the lake? If he remembered right, they had a boathouse down there and Randy did like to take his family out on fall afternoons. Just, with all that was going on, he couldn’t see Randy doing that; he sure as hell wouldn’t. Being trapped on a boat with no where to go should something go wrong? No thank you.
The Peterson’s cabin was a three bedroom, but the living room was slightly bigger, and it wasn’t as high off the ground. He gripped the rail and looked up at the window drapes, hoping that he would be recognized before fired upon, in case his neighbors were feeling jumpy.
“Randy? You in there man? Wendy?” he called, mounting the steps and standing on the front porch. There was a bag of trash next to the front door and when the wind shifted he felt his stomach lurch; there was something spoiled in there.
He couldn’t imagine that they’d leave that there for long before walking it down to the trash can at the end of the road; it wasn’t something easily forgotten. Not with it smelling like rotten fish; it’d attract wildlife as well as permeate the air being sucked into the cabin’s cracked windows. In fact, he was surprised the racoons hadn’t already been up here digging through it, or the occasional brown bear he saw around here.
Walking up to the living room window, he placed his arm against the glass and peered inside. It was difficult to see anything as the room was shrouded in darkness, the drapes interfering with what little the afternoon sun had to offer. His breath was fogging up the glass, but it didn’t matter, if anything was alive in there, it wasn’t moving.
He checked the screen door, it was unlocked. The door however wasn’t. Walking back along the porch, he went to the potted cactus at the end, lifted it up and took out the key hidden beneath. Both families were on friendly terms and knew where their spare keys were, just in case they needed to get into the others’ cabin for emergency reasons.
Fingering the key lightly, noticing how dirty it was, he knew that it hadn’t been used in a very long time. When was the last time he’d been over here? Five or six years?
Walking back over to the front door, he slipped the key in the lock, twisted it slowly, then paused to see if anyone responded to what he was doing.
Silence.
Okay then.
He turned the knob, winced at the sound the door made when it freed itself from the frame, and paused once more to see if anyone came running. When no one did, he pushed it open and the escaping air brought a fetid stench that ended his stomach’s struggle; he puked on the welcome mat; his throat raw from the amount of upchucking he’d done over the past couple of days. He should have picked up some Prilosec or something stronger from the Wal-Mart Pharmacy.
The Rotting Souls Series (Book 5): Charon's Vengeance Page 15