by Megan Berry
“I need one of you come with me and watch my back,” Jack says, and Ryan steps forward instantly.
“I saw a bunch of keys hanging beside the door,” Dad tells them. Jack nods as he takes off, his footsteps practically bouncing with excitement.
“The rest of us should go through the pallets and mark what we need to take,” Dad says, turning to Megan and me. “Non-perishable food is at the top of the list, medical supplies, warm clothing, then toiletries and whatever else you think of.”
“How are we going to move all this stuff?” I ask, looking at all the plastic-wrapped pallets that are way too heavy to move by hand, even with the five of us.”
“I saw a forklift in the back,” Dad says, “I’m going to try and get it started, if I can’t—we’ll move everything by hand if we have to,” he tells us, and my back hurts just thinking about it. I really hope he gets the machine working.
“How do you want us to mark them?” Megan asks, and that gives my dad pause for a minute as he looks around the warehouse, shining his flashlight around for inspiration. He jogs over and starts ripping open a box. I hear him chuckle as he returns with the box and drops it by our feet, accidentally shining his flashlight in my face.
“Sorry, Jane,” he murmurs as he victoriously points his light down to reveal the box full of bright yellow Halloween tape. It’s that cheap plastic stuff that comes in long rolls and says words like ‘danger’ and ‘caution.’ People used to wrap them around the perimeter of their yards so it would look like some kind of crime scene. I have a hard time seeing the fun in it now, considering every day is Halloween these days—and not the fun candy kind either.
“Wrap the pallets we want to take with this,” Dad instructs as he hands us each a roll. He gives me a brief hug and tells us to be careful. Then he takes off into the dark. I watch his flashlight bob around until he turns the corner and disappears.
“All this stuff is awesome,” Megan says as she moves forward excitedly. We look around for a bit and unwrap a couple rolls of Halloween tape before we decide to work together. Wrapping the tape around the pallets is kind of a two-person job. The first pallet we come to is full of dog food—not very appetizing—so we move past it to the next one. We find a huge pallet filled with hundreds of cans of spaghetti sauce. After a brief debate, we decide to take it.
“We’ll have to make sure we find some pasta,” I tell Megan as we each grab an end of the yellow tape and circle the pallet, meeting in the middle and tying a neat bow around the plastic-wrapped pile of Italian goodness. She snickers but doesn’t make a snotty comment, so she must think it’s a good idea too. After all, what good is a huge pallet of sauce without spaghetti? My mouth waters at the idea of spaghetti and meatballs, though that might be a bit too optimistic.
We find tons of stuff that we can’t possibly take, but would have been awesome before the outbreak: big screen TV’s, pallets of makeup, bubble bath, DVD players, laptop computers, and tablets. It’s kind of heartbreaking to walk past it all, but it’s essentially useless junk these days.
Megan and I wrap a bunch of other pallets though. Gatorade, water, flour, sugar, oatmeal, breakfast cereal, beans, soup, canned fruits and vegetables, rice, even popcorn kernels and soda pop. We even find the spaghetti.
Some of the stuff is useful, but it would be crazy to take an entire pallet and waste room on the truck. So we use our knives to cut open the pallets and begin stacking smaller quantities of stuff into empty cardboard boxes that we find in a big bin at the back of the warehouse—things like seasoning; salt and pepper; lip balm; razors for shaving; and lotions for dry, cracked skin. It might not seem like a necessity, but my hands and face are so wind burnt from the cold weather. It’s extremely painful—which is exactly what I tell Megan when she tries to tell me that hand lotion is not necessary!
She rolls her eyes at me, and I grit my teeth and turn my back to find another pallet.
“How’s it going girls?” my dad asks as he comes back around the corner, nearly blinding us with his flashlight again.
“Pretty good, Mr. H,” Megan chimes in before I can even open my mouth, and I grit my teeth some more. I don’t know why, but I can’t help but find Megan really annoying these days—probably because she’s a bit of a know-it-all and always treats me like an idiot.
“Did you get the loader-thing running?” I ask Dad, noticing the way Megan frowns at my improper use of the word.
“No, but I did find this manual pallet jack,” my dad says. I squint over at him in the darkness and see that he’s pushing a weird thing with two forks. Dad demonstrates moving it beneath the pallet of spaghetti sauce and starts pumping the handle up and down. Slowly I see the pallet start to rise.
“This is going to take forever,” I tell him bluntly.
“It’s better than nothing,” Megan, of course, has to chime in.
“I’m going to see how the other two are making out getting that tractor trailer up and running,” my dad tells us. He starts walking away just as a loud screech of metal makes us all jump and spin towards the door.
The loud rumble of a diesel engine starts echoing through the building and a long, thin line of daylight appears and then widens as the huge door is rolled up. Daylight floods the warehouse, along with a fresh blast of icy wind. I blink against the sudden light that pierces my retinas and makes them ache.
After I blink a few times and clear my vision, I can finally see Ryan walking towards us with a huge grin on his face. “We got it going!” he tells us unnecessarily.
The truck makes a loud, piercing ‘beep, beep, beep’ sound as it backs up, making us wince, and then it stops. We all move to the doorway with a frown. I’m half-expecting to see the truck surrounded by a sea of zombies after all that noise, even though I know they are frozen.
Jack is cussing as he climbs down from the cab. I watch him walk to the back of the truck, kicking up snow as he pulls his knife from his pocket, and my brows rise up in confusion. He cuts something near the back wheels, then trudges back to the truck and gets in without so much as glancing our way.
This time when he puts the truck in reverse, it doesn’t beep. “Well that’s much better,” my dad remarks to Ryan, and we all nod. That harsh beep felt way too much like putting a target on all our backs. Jack backs into the loading dock like a pro, and we all move as he brings it to a stop right against the building.
Jack joins us with a pair of lock cutters in his hand, probably from the cab of the truck. He cuts through the lock holding the door of the trailer shut. Ryan rolls the door up, and we all jump back in horror. I fight the urge to run. We all take a couple steps away before getting ahold of ourselves, and I stare with my jaw slack.
“What the hell?” Jack says, pretty much summing up the exact way I'm feeling.
Chapter Three
“Where did they all come from?” Ryan asks, though he knows none of us have any idea. Sometimes stuff is just so messed up that you have to say it out loud so you know you’re not the only one seeing it.
“Damned if I know,” Jack says with a glare at the twenty-plus zombies that must’ve been locked in the trailer before they froze.
“Maybe just before the outbreak got bad?” Megan suggests, and we all shrug. I’m not sure about Megan’s logic. Was there a moment of time before the outbreak got bad—a crucial turning point where we could have nipped the zombies in the bud and saved humanity? To me, it seemed like I went to bed that night and woke up and the whole world had already gone to hell.
“Should we still use it?” I ask, more concerned with the food than what mysterious person decided locking a bunch of zombies in a truck was a good idea.
We all look at each other, no one wanting to be the one to decide, just in case it’s a huge mistake. “Maybe we should clean it out and see what we’re dealing with,” Jack suggests, and we all nod in unison. We need to see what we’re up against first because finding another truck isn’t going to be easy.
Ryan rolls the door down
and Jack pulls the truck ahead. We don’t want to dump the bodies in the loading dock, right in our way. The rest of us trail along behind the truck until he stops. Then Ryan rolls the door back up. Jack and Ryan jump in right away and start tossing bodies out of the truck.
“We should spike them, just in case they ever thaw out and come back to life,” my dad decides, giving Megan and me the look to pull out our knives. I smother a groan. It’s a good idea, but trying to wedge my knife through the head of a frozen zomb is not my idea of a good time.
My first attempt is half-hearted at best. The knife only goes about halfway in before it gets stuck. “You can do better than that,” Dad calls over, and his mockery fuels me. I actually try this time, putting all of my weight on the knife, and it slowly slides in to the handle.
Megan and my dad are already on to their second zombie, so I increase the pace and keep it up until the truck is empty and every zombie they’ve thrown out into the snow receives their grand prize hole in the head.
“That was much harder than expected,” I pant as I stand up, and my back lets out a loud pop.
“You thought stabbing frozen zombies through the head was going to be easy?” Ryan teases me with a laugh as he hops down from the truck, and I give him a playful punch in the arm, making him hold his hands up in mock surrender.
“How’s it looking in there?” my dad calls out to Jack, who is still inside the trailer shining his flashlight around.
“It isn’t too gummed up,” Jack admits after a thorough inspection. “I think we were lucky the weather hasn’t been hot,” he says, giving me a gruesome glimpse of what my summer might be like—if I make it that long.
“The food is up off the ground, on pallets,” Ryan points out.
Jack and my dad stare at each other for a minute before they seem to come to some sort of silent agreement and nod. We can’t afford to be picky; we are going to need this food.
“We can put some cardboard and plastic down too,” Jack suggests, waving us back towards the warehouse as he heads behind the wheel. I step over a particularly gruesome-looking zombie who’s really just a torso and start jogging to try and warm myself up.
Dad sees me rubbing my fingers together and suggests we all take a quick break to warm up in the truck. It isn’t as cold down here as up on the mountain, but as the zombies have shown us, it’s still more than cold enough to freeze flesh.
Jack finishes backing the truck into place and then joins us in the Ford. We all sit impatiently, waiting to thaw out enough so we can go back to work.
Jack finally checks his watch and nods his head. “I think that’s time folks,” he jokes, and we all practically leap out of the truck, ready to get this stuff loaded up. The cold is a slap in the face with an icy hand, but I ignore it and follow the others back inside the warehouse. We have a lot of work ahead of us, and, zombies or frozen zombies, none of us really want to be off the mountain when the sun sets.
“I thought that was never going to end,” Megan complains as she staggers towards the truck, and I can’t help but silently agree. It feels like my back is broken from pushing and shoving the stubborn pallets, and I’m completely soaked through with sweat.
“Let’s get going guys,” Dad tells us, even though we are already limping towards the truck. Ryan and Jack hop into the cab of the big rig and my dad gets behind the wheel of the Ford. I pull the last little bit of strength I have and jog past Megan to claim the front seat before she can get there. She makes a face, but otherwise doesn’t say anything as she climbs into the back.
Dad starts the truck and then gives Jack the thumbs up sign. The semi pulls slowly out of the loading dock, its tires spinning for a minute in the snow before it finds enough traction to get going. Dad pulls in behind them and we slowly head out of town, convoy style.
“That was a lot of work,” I comment to no one in particular, and both Megan and my dad nod.
“We got a lot of food though,” Dad points out, and I grin.
“I guess this was a pretty good idea after all,” I tell him, and he sends me a wink.
“I’m glad you suggested it,” he admits, and I can’t help but beam. It feels good to be a contributing member of our little post-apocalypse society. I know chopping wood is important too, but it can sometimes feel like it isn’t.
“Guys—” Megan breaks in on our happy father-daughter moment. Something in her voice has me scared, like as soon as she speaks.
Dad glances in the rearview mirror. “Shit,” he says, surprising me because he doesn’t swear very often. I turn in my seat and look out the back window. An older model truck is speeding towards us, catching up fast.
The walkie on the dash crackles to life. “You guys have company back there,” Ryan’s voice comes through, and even with the static, I can tell that he’s worried too.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” I say, voicing the best case scenario, even though people are just as likely to murder strangers as help them these days.
The crack of gunfire has all of our hopes sinking. I see my dad’s knuckles turn white on the wheel as his grip tightens and he presses down on the accelerator. The truck is still gaining on us.
Megan’s pulling her gun from her hip. A bullet strikes the truck, making a horrible noise. All I want to do is duck down under the dash. I briefly consider it, but know I couldn’t live with myself if I acted so cowardly. Instead, I dive into the back with Megan, making my dad call out in protest, but he can’t really stop me since he’s speeding along a snow-covered road.
Megan pops the back window open and starts firing until her gun runs dry. She’s gotten in a couple lucky shots to the hood, and one to the windshield, but I don’t think she’s actually hit anyone because the truck is still coming at us.
We both duck down as a barrage of shots volley against the truck. I count eight shots and then nothing. “You okay, Dad?” I yell out, terror pumping with every beat of my heart.
“Yeah, what about you kids?” he calls back, and I allow myself to take a small breath. I look over at Megan and she’s fine.
“We’re okay too,” I call out and watch his shoulders sag in visible relief.
Megan has her gun reloaded and pops back up to the window to take a shot, she gets one off before the other truck starts firing in return.
It’s like everything happens in slow motion. I hear a horrible scream and then Megan slumps. I grab her and pull her down on the seat.
“Jane?” Dad screams from the front seat.
“I think Megan was shot,” I scream back, terror giving me the shakes and making me clumsy. I pull my hand away from her body and it’s covered in red. “Oh my God!” I yell, making my dad panic and swerve the truck.
“Is she still alive?” my dad demands from the front seat, and I force myself to look at her face. She’s looking back at me, but it isn’t her usual disdainful look; her eyes are bright and glazed over with pain.
“I’m alive,” Megan pants out when I can’t find the words to answer.
“Thank Christ,” I hear my dad murmur.
“I think it’s my arm…” Megan gasps, trying to move but only succeeding in hurting herself and causing a fresh flood of blood to stain the front of her coat. “Maybe my shoulder,” she says as she lays hunched down and panting.
The gunfire starts again, and I pull Megan down onto the floor, making her scream in pain. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur to her as I sprawl out on the seat above her, trying to stay alive. Now she’s flat on her back, and I know I have to look.
My shaking fingers fumble as they undo her coat, and she groans. I try to ignore everything else and just focus on the task at hand, but it’s tough with Megan writhing in pain at every little jostle, and the bullets. How many bullets do those guys have?
I finally get her coat opened up. My stomach rebels at the sight of her shirt completely soaked in blood. “It’s your right shoulder,” I confirm, and she nods. Her face is so pale that I’m scared she’s going to die any minute.
“Check and see if it went all the way through,” Megan murmurs, her voice no more than a whisper.
I stare at her blankly. “Check my shoulder,” she grounds out, and I feel horrible for her. She deserves someone better than me to help her with this.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn her as I’m forced to roll her over a little. She nods with a determined look in her eye, but even she can’t hold back the scream when I actually do it. The back of her shirt is clean, no blood. Just to be sure, I pull her shirt back a little and peer down; her skin looks untouched.
“It didn’t go through,” I tell her, and she moans as I try to gently lay her back down without hurting her too much.
“You need to apply pressure to the wound!” my dad yells back to me, and I nod. I’ve seen doctor shows before. Although, who knows how reliable that stuff is. I dig in my backpack, pull out a clean shirt, and press it to the wound on her shoulder. Her eyelids flicker and she passes out.
A bullet enters the cab and goes straight through, cracking the front windshield. I know I need to deal with this so I can help my dad deal with the assholes outside that are trying to kill me.
I stare at Megan’s prone body and wrack my brain. “Okay,” I murmur to myself as I try desperately to shed the shaking. Silas. What would Silas do right now? I hold my finger to her neck and feel for a pulse. She has one, thank God.
I know I need to keep something on the wound, but it’s in an awkward spot, and I’m not going to be able to sit here and hold it for her.
My eyes land on her belt and I quickly take it off. I need to hurry and do this before she wakes up. I gingerly pull her arm from the sleeve of her coat and then fold my t-shirt and pack it over the bullet hole. Then I take a deep breath and use Megan’s own belt over her shoulder and under her armpit, tightening as tight as it will go. There isn’t a hole that small, so I use my knife to poke one out through the leather. I give her a final look and crawl back up towards the window to take a peek.