Jerky, sudden movement in their cramped corners made both women jump. Haven jolted her head to the side and saw the source of the noise. A gray cat hissed at them angrily from the adjoining shelf. How it had gotten inside the stockroom made no sense, but Haven knew he would find them in seconds if she didn’t act quickly. She reached over and grabbed the cat, ignoring its furious protests, and flung it to the ground.
The gunman paused and studied the feline for a few moments before scanning the aisle for any other movement. The cat, clearly intimidated by his presence, darted off into the shadows and vanished.
Cade stood there for several moments, tapping his trigger finger on the gun as he searched.
“Foster!” a voice rang out from outside the stockroom. “We’re heading out!”
The predatory man didn’t budge an inch. He just stared in their direction, tapping his gun, narrowing his eyes. Haven and her grandmother held their breaths.
He turned suddenly and headed to the swinging door. When it shut, Haven gulped the air eagerly.
They knew better than to climb down immediately in case the gunman was waiting on the other side of the door, poised to spring a trap.
After several minutes, they heard tires screech in the parking lot accompanied by loud, random gunfire. They descended the shelves and reached the bottom.
“We could go back into the store and try to find our supplies, or we can get out of here now before anyone comes back,” Haven suggested.
Rosemary wiped a thin layer of perspiration from her forehead. “I think we should try to gather whatever we can in here.”
“The cops never came,” Haven said in a barely audible voice. Her faith in law enforcement was beginning to wane.
“I know. I think it’s past that now. It’s every man out for himself. Or woman,” she added, patting Haven’s arm. “That was a smart idea with the shelves, dear. Speedy thinking.”
Haven nodded nervously, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the swinging door. A heavy silence hung in the air. They had almost died. In a Wal-Mart.
What a terrible way to go, she thought bitterly.
She stopped mid-stride and turned to her grandmother, eyes resolute.
“Screw not having a concealed weapons license. Next time we go out, I’m bringing a freaking bazooka.”
Chapter 11:
Colin walked warily to the porch of the large white house, sword ready. Old, dingy paint peeled at the edges over wood beams that had been in place for several decades. Nearly all of the windows on both floors were open, some with tattered curtains billowing in the wind.
Stepping cautiously through the doorway, he closed the door quietly behind him. He didn’t want any wretched flesh eaters lurking in through an open door. His eyes scanned the foyer. Nothing seemed particularly unusual. Aside from being dusty and worn, the house was enormous and had probably been quite beautiful in its earlier days. However, whoever had lived in it in recent years had neglected it considerably. If he hadn’t seen the farmer in the barn, he would have thought the house was abandoned.
He sniffed the air for anything suspicious, like the unmistakable odor of a rotting corpse. Upon smelling nothing out of the usual, he moved ahead.
With every corner he turned, Colin remained crouched and swung the sword from side to side.
He went through each room with swift precision and noting where the kitchen was, made his way to the second floor. He wanted to make sure the house was safe before he began rummaging for food and other supplies.
The smell hit him as soon as his foot touched the stairs.
Colin stifled a cough as he ascended the steps, unfazed by the darkness spreading through the stairway. Upon reaching the landing on the second floor, he blinked to adjust his eyes to the dimness. At the far end of a hall covered in yellowed floral wallpaper, a closed door blocked the entrance to the only room on the floor.
He walked up to the door calmly, grimacing as the putrid stench grew stronger. He put his ear against it and listened for any signs of movement. When he didn’t hear anything, he tried the doorknob. The door creaked noisily as it opened.
Colin covered his nose with one hand, the other tightly holding the sword out in front of him. The rancid odor caused his eyes to water as he looked around the dark room. He didn’t hear any moaning so he assumed whatever was causing the smell was staying dead. He edged over to a window covered in heavy drapes. Puffs of dust swirled in the stagnant air as he moved them aside. Overcast skies cast a dreary light over the room.
Colin’s eyes immediately rested on the canopy bed in the center of the bedroom. The image was haunting.
On the large queen bed covered in old quilts laid a middle-aged woman, her arms crossed serenely over her chest, her pale white skin sunken in and dull. Her lips were thin and faintly tinged in blue. There was a small, neat hole in her forehead, but Colin noticed a crescent moon-shaped wound on one of her wrists.
Colin imagined that she had been bitten a couple of days ago when the chaos first broke out. Maybe she’d gone into the city on a shopping run and had come into contact with one of the monstrosities he was seeing more and more of as of late. When she had returned home, she most likely turned during the night like his father, attacked her husband, the farmer outside, who then presumably shot her when he realized what was happening.
In spite of his almost constant cheerful, carefree disposition, Colin felt very alone.
He sighed and pulled the covers over her eyes.
Circling the room once to find anything of value, he then headed downstairs and walked to the kitchen. Pots and pans lay scattered about the counters. Dirty dishes sat in the sink. Flies buzzed around the crusty contents, moving when a breeze came in from the open window.
He began pulling out cans of food from the cupboards. When he realized he would need another bag to carry his newfound goods, he put the cans down and ran upstairs, taking two steps at a time.
He failed to notice the figures shambling out of the tree line, headed directly for the house.
Rummaging around in the bedroom of the deceased woman until he found what he was looking for, he yanked a sturdy potato sack from beneath a pile of clothes on a chair in the corner of the room.
A crash from below halted his movements. He pressed himself against the door and listened as glass continued to shatter at different places in the house. A cacophony of moans carried up to his hiding place.
He realized that he hadn’t been as isolated on the farm as he’d initially thought.
Cursing under his breath when he remembered that the canned food was downstairs, he closed the door as stealthily as possible and turned the lock. He went to the window and slapped the sill in frustration when he saw numerous zombies surrounding the front of the house, with even more coming out of the woods.
If there were only a few of the undead intruders on the first floor, there was a chance that Colin could sneak past them, grab the precious food, and run out the back door to safety. There seemed to be only a couple near that part of the house, and Colin figured that with speed and agility on his side, he had a good shot of making it out.
He edged back to the door and opened it, wincing as it creaked and groaned under the effort.
Staying close to the wall, Colin crept forward in the darkness until he reached the staircase. Holding his breath and clutching the sword in both hands, he peered around the corner.
He almost fell backwards when he saw what lay just feet before him.
Two white eyes glared up at him through the blackness. Colin could vaguely make out the silhouette of the body that belonged to the pair of eyes. A low hiss followed by a piercing screech erupted from the figure. Almost instantly, telltale moans drifted through the house in response.
When the eyes began to bounce through the darkness towards his location at the top of the stairs, Colin turned and ran for the bedroom. He slammed the door shut behind him and pushed a chair underneath the door knob.
Something large
slammed into the door. The vibrations from it shook the room.
Colin backed away and opened the window. He looked at the ground below and shook his head, placing the sword on the wood floor.
“If I knew this was what I’d get in America…” he muttered as he stepped out onto the porch rooftop, struggling to get himself and his duffel bag through the slender space.
Colin reached back through the window and grabbed the sword. The sudden crashing of the door to the ground startled him, and he lost his grip on his weapon. He glumly watched it fall to the soft dirt, landing amidst several shambling zombies whom upon hearing the thud, looked up hungrily at Colin.
He turned in time to hear the footfall of zombies making their way to his perch on the roof of the porch.
Before he could close the window, one of them reached through the opening and clawed at him in desperation.
Colin grabbed the zombie’s arm, shoved it against the windowsill, and roughly stomped on it with his boot. It hung limply from the creature’s body as he reached for the window itself and brought it down on the zombie’s ruined appendage.
He spun around and stepped to the edge of the roof.
“Okay, you can do this, mate,” he said, feigning enthusiasm. “Jump to the ground, roll to your feet, and run like the devil’s on your heels,” he continued. “You can do this.”
The window behind him shattered.
“Time to go.” He walked back a couple of steps, making sure to avoid the zombie crawling out of the window, and broke into a run. He leapt off the roof and landed a few feet away from his sword.
A hungry zombie was closer still.
It leaned down and grasped at his kilt. Rising to his feet, he grabbed the closest thing to him, his duffel bag, and swung it into the face of the approaching monster. It stumbled back and fell to the ground. Others were closing in steadily. Colin reached for the sword, shouldered his bag, and began dodging the zombies as they shambled to him with outstretched arms.
Within seconds, he had cleared the ones around the house. He sped up, his strong legs pumping furiously, and neared the tree line.
That’s the last damn time I ever go into a creepy house again.
Colin decided that if the outbreak had spread to the countryside, the city was the last place in the world he would want to go. Sticking to the backwoods and country roads of the state to wait the catastrophe out seemed like a better option.
***
Haven and Rosemary gathered as many items as they could fit into a cardboard box. Haven double-checked to make sure there were a few rolls of toilet paper, a decent number of canned goods that didn’t need to be heated or refrigerated and would still taste reasonable, some jars of blueberry preserves, several boxes of crackers—both plain and peanut butter-filled, a couple bottles of multi-vitamins, and any other non-perishable supplies that weren’t too heavy. One would carry the box and the other a case of bottled water.
They began to trek to the rear of the stockroom, but stopped in their tracks when they noticed the back door was completely ajar.
“So that was how our friendly feline got in,” Haven mused, shaking her head at the memory of their near-fatal encounter.
Outside, the sky was dark and heavy with the promise of rain, and chilling October winds swept over the two women. Haven’s dark hair billowed around her as she adjusted her hold on the supply-laden box.
In front of them lay a vacant back lot. Old dusty gravel was littered with trash, obstinate weeds protruded from cracks in the cement. Haven scanned the lot before deciding it was safe to step out from their sanctuary.
The women scurried as quickly as they could in the direction of the Friendly’s, pausing every so often to make sure they weren’t being followed. Haven breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her car.
With only a few hundred yards left, they pushed forward with a faster pace. Both of their bodies protested, their muscles straining with the added weight and increased speed.
Haven nearly collapsed when she made it to the car. She hastily unlocked the door and began loading the items into the back seat.
On the other side of the car, Rosemary’s eyes suddenly widened.
“Haven, behind you!”
Haven dropped what was left in her arms and reached for her Mace, cursing the fact that she was going for a can of pepper spray and not a gun.
To her left, appearing from behind a massive oak tree, two figures moved towards her. Both were dirty and their clothes were stained and tattered. The seemingly younger one of the pair moved slowly and menacingly, pushing his long dark jacket out of the way. He seemed to have something hidden behind his back. Haven noted that his bushy beard was caked with blood.
“Hey, there, girl,” he said, his gravelly voice sending chills up her spine. “How’s about sharing some of that there food?” He looked hungrily at their stash and wiped his hand across his beard, leaving a fresh trail of red in its wake. Haven saw the origin of the blood. A sizeable chunk was missing from his palm, pus and blood oozing freely.
Rosemary clutched her gun, lips pursed in a tight line, but kept it out of view, edging to her granddaughter’s side. The other man stopped her mid-step, smiling as he managed to block her way.
Haven didn’t bother concealing the can of Mace. There was no way in hell that she was going to give him any part of their already scant supplies.
“Sorry, but we can’t afford to do that. What we have is for ourselves and our family. There’s plenty left in the storeroom. You’ll have to find your own,” she told him sternly.
The one nearest her kept moving forward. He ran his gaze over her body, his eyes hazy with lust. Apparently, he wasn’t just interested in their supplies. Haven’s stomach twisted into tight knots.
“This one right here is mighty pretty. A lot prettier than that other crazy bitch. Just look at those titties,” he said to his companion, gesturing to her.
“Grandma, get in the car,” she said in a low voice, determined to protect her.
“Absolutely not. We get in together,” Rosemary answered firmly.
Haven turned to her ever so slightly to protest, but it was too late.
When he came at her, she wasn’t ready. In one deft move, the man lunged forward, roughly knocking Haven into the side of the car. Her Mace tumbled to the ground, the can clanking noisily on the pavement. She grunted as he pressed up against her, pinning her.
“I guess you shoulda shared some, huh, you little greedy bitch?” he whispered harshly in her ear, lingering as he breathed in the sweet scent of her hair.
Haven struggled against him wildly, but stopped when she saw the glint of a knife in his other hand. Rosemary didn’t miss a beat and leveled her gun to his face, but the other man immediately pulled out a beat-up revolver and aimed it at her. Without even looking in her direction, his companion pressed the cold blade to Haven’s throat.
“Get your filthy hands off my granddaughter,” she ordered.
“Now I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The man smiled wickedly, his eyes still on Haven. He licked his lips and ground his hips against her. His calloused fingers began to roughly grope her breast. She could feel his growing erection pressed against her stomach. Haven gagged.
“If I were you,” he continued, “I’d get back into that car.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. I’ll give you one more chance,” Rosemary answered coldly. “And choose wisely. Because if you don’t, you can think about what crime you wanted to carry out against my granddaughter as you rot in hell.”
In spite of the situation, Haven couldn’t help but be proud of her tough-as-nails grandmother.
The man chuckled, clearly not believing that Rosemary would pull the trigger.
“Go ahead, if you feel that’s best. But what’s going to happen is James here is going to put a bullet through your chest, and this here blade will cut clean through your little granddaughter’s pretty white throat.” The hand on Haven’s breast began to move downw
ards. “Then, while we take turns with her, you’ll have to watch her bleed out until she dies right here in this parking lot.”
Haven tasted bile and shuddered visibly. She had to strategize a means of escape that didn’t involve getting stabbed. She would be no use to her grandmother dead.
“Like I said,” he taunted again as he began to unzip his pants, “I’d just let me finish up what I’ve started. I promise to give her back to you when I’m done. All in one piece.” Haven’s eyes widened as he leaned in towards her and slowly licked the side of her face. The combination of his rancid breath and rough sandpaper tongue was the last straw, and she threw up the remnants of her breakfast on him. He didn’t flinch and dug the blade deeper into her throat. Haven wheezed in protest.
Enough was enough.
She was going to take her chances and grab the blade away from herself so that she could escape. Shredding her palm was a heck of a lot better than shredding her jugular. But suddenly, as if by some invisible force, the man was jerked backwards. She gasped and fell forward, clutching her throat. His friend turned around, wildly processing the new development. Rosemary took advantage of the distraction, aimed her gun, and shot him squarely in the chest. His revolver clattered to the side.
Haven ran to Rosemary and hugged her tightly, her breathing uneven and her entire body shaking. A few feet away, a man was swinging at her attacker with a crowbar. He looked to be in his forties, tall and sturdily built. The hardened expression on his face matched each determined swing that made contact with the man, who in his disoriented and confused state, didn’t stand a chance. With the benefit of surprise under his belt, the newcomer had been able to not only disarm him, but also beat the man into near unconsciousness.
Haven’s expression was dark and angry, tears welling up in her eyes. She walked over to the stranger who looked at her questioningly, paused in front of the groaning man, and furiously landed several solid kicks to his groin. Then she dug the heel of her boot into his privates ever so slowly, grinding her foot back and forth against the concrete until she was satisfied that everything was turned to mush. She spit on him with unbridled disdain.
The Good, the Dead, and the Lawless: The Undoing Page 13