Within These Walls: Series Box Set

by Tracey Ward

  I know Jordan won’t like this, but it’s our only shot. He needs that bow, and after this experience, I don’t know when I’ll ever get him into the mood to loot again. The two lonely pills in my pocket are like a ticking clock in my ear, counting down my moments of clarity. There’s that pharmacy nearby, so close I can feel it in my skin like sunshine.

  “What about him?” the man asks, pointing at Jordan.

  “He stays with me, no question,” I reply.

  “Yes, but we’ll be feeding him and you. You’ll be earning your keep but what about him?”

  “I’ll help you fortify the building,” Jordan offers. “You said you have women and children here. Another set of strong hands to help with heavy lifting has to have some value. And that front door, it can’t hold forever. Other looters or the undead, doesn’t matter which, eventually one will break through and you’ll lose everything.”

  The man considers Jordan’s proposition, even glances over his shoulder at the young man behind him.

  “I’ve been saying the same thing since we got here,” the young guy says with a smirk.

  “Yeah, I know,” the old man grumbles. “Alright, she teaches us how to shoot a bow and you help Taylor with the grunt work of fixing that front door, and you can have your arrows and bow.”

  “Jordan needs to be able to take the lessons as well,” I tell him firmly. “He’s never shot one and I’d like to teach him before we hit the streets again.”

  “Fair enough,” the old man says with a nod and offers his hand to us. Jordan shakes it first and then I do the same.

  “I’m Cal, by the way. And this, as I said, is Taylor.”

  “Jordan and Alissa,” Jordan says in response.

  “Alright, Jordan and Alissa,” he says, slapping his hands on the table and rising. “Let’s get started.”

  ***

  I chose a bow for Jordan and spend a good deal of time with him fine tuning it to work for him. I have four others in my “class”, including Taylor. The others are two men a little older than him and a quiet, pretty young woman about my age. I wonder how many people are here in this building, but I avoid asking questions because I can tell they are still wary of us.

  I set up targets beside the front door, where the zombies are still trying to get in and their moans can be heard through the glass. I want all of us to get used to tuning them out, to focusing through the anxiety of having them near. It’s good for me too because I am acutely aware of their presence and I catch myself glancing at the door every other minute just to see that it’s not cracking and spider webbing under the pressure of their onslaught. Jordan isn’t great at shooting, not at first, but I hope he’ll get better with practice. He’s actually the worst of the five with Taylor hands down being the best. I’m convinced he has the gun, which is still with him in a holster on his hip, because he’s shot one extensively before. Despite my initial misgivings about his abilities with it, he’s since shown a lot of comfort with the weapon. He’s accustomed to using the sight to line up his target and I don’t even have to tell him to release his breath and shoot on the exhale. He and Jordan are pretty close in age, Taylor is maybe a couple years older, and they end up talking easily with each other. As they wait their turn at the target, they discuss modifications to the door that they will make later and I overhear a lot of in depth discussion on zombie fighting tactics.

  “It’s not supposed to be like this Jordan says at one point. “The running thing, what the hell is that?”

  “I know!” Taylor cries, outraged. “At least it’s only for twenty minutes or so, then they atrophy but that’s twenty minute of fighting off a friggin’ animal.”

  “Have you seen it up close?”

  “Yeah,” Taylor answers, his voice becoming solemn. He lowers it so I can barely hear him. “We lost one, Evey’s brother. She’s the girl shooting right now. She was crying over him as he died of The Fever, then he tried to grab her. I had to shoot him before he bit her.”

  Jordan swears under his breath and the conversation drifts back to the door and making sure it’s solid. After a couple of hours the lesson ends and everyone sets off to do their chores, though I don’t know what those are exactly. Everyone pulls their weight here, though, and with my lessons done I don’t know what to do with myself. I stick with Jordan and Taylor, hoping to help them out, and find my purpose soon enough.

  “Taylor, you want to volunteer?” Cal calls to him from a dark corner of the store. The front area is getting lighter, we actually had plenty of light to hold our archery lesson now that the sun is fully up. The back section, though, is still encased in shadows and I can’t see where Cal is.

  Taylor groans. “It’s not volunteering if I’m the only one who ever gets asked to do it.”

  “Asked to do what?” Jordan asks.

  Taylor points to the zombies at the door and says, “Move the herd.”

  “They pile up out there every time someone comes through the front door,” Cal says, appearing suddenly from the dark. “We have to have someone divert them away so they don’t break through. And if you boys are going to work on that door, we need them gone. We might have to open the outer one at some point.”

  “How do you divert them away exactly?” I ask.

  “Someone runs down to the Safeway at the end of the shopping center, leads them there. Then they walk back here over the rooftops, out of sight of the herd.”

  “You have a way inside the Safeway?” I ask, suddenly eager.

  “Yeah,” Cal says, eyeing me. “The doors are locked up like in here but we’ve got a way down in through the roof.”

  “I’ll go,” I say without hesitation.

  “Ali,” Jordan starts to say, his voice disapproving.

  I ignore him. “I’d like my knife back.”

  Cal nods and grabs a walkie from his hip. I noticed during lessons that Taylor has one too. Occasionally it would go off, someone checking in about their position or sightings of people. No one approached the building though, probably because of the swarm at the door. Cal talks to someone named Mitch and tells him to bring us our gear. I decide to leave my bow behind because apparently I’ll have back up and it’ll be easier to run without it. I have my knife on my leg and ten minutes later I’m at the back door of the building being given the run down.

  “It’s easy, don’t worry,” Taylor says, and I have a feeling it’s more for Jordan’s benefit than mine. “I’ve done it several times over the last couple days and I’ve never come close to being caught. There will be shooters on the roof pacing with you, watching your back, so all you have to worry about is leading them to the Safeway. Don’t go for the front doors, they won’t open. Run past them and around the side. There’s a dumpster you have to climb up on and then you’ll be able to reach a rope ladder one of the shooters will drop down to you. Climb up and you’ve done your job.”

  “And then I can go down into the building? Take what I want?”

  “Yes,” Cal says. “But none of my people are going in with you. You’ll be on your own.”

  “Understood,” I say, and I actually prefer it this way. I don’t want to explain why I’m running straight for the pharmacy.

  Walkies go off and I hear both Cal and Taylor’s carry a crackly voice.

  “Back door is clear. Shooters in place.”

  “Roger that,” Cal responds. “Opening the door now.”

  Taylor unlocks the back door and I meet Jordan’s worried eyes. I smile reassuringly.

  “Be careful,” he says, his voice low.

  “You too.”

  The door swings open and I dash out into the blinding sunlight. Steam is coming off the ground where last night’s rain puddles are meeting the sun’s heat and vaporizing into the air. I run around the side of the building, being sure to give the side a wide berth. This store sits in a strip mall, so all of the roofs are attached but the downside is that in order to lure the zombies away and to the left, I have to run past them at the front of the b
uilding since there’s no alley to cut down. I take it easy on myself until I see them, until they catch a whiff of me on the air, and then I’m sprinting for the other end of the mall. I can hear them behind me but I don’t look. I remember Taylor’s promise that the shooters on the roof have my back, and when I glance up, I can see at least three spaced out down the roofs on the mall, the last one standing near the far edge of the Safeway. I’m assuming he’s my ladder guy and I hope he’s good at his job.

  I start to get tired a little over halfway there. I burned most of my energy this morning making my crazy sprint across the parking lot, then being scared for my life for over an hour inside. Not to mention two hours of teaching archery have left my arms a little shaky. This idea, I’m thinking, was stupid. It’s too late now, though, and all of this is worth the chance of getting my hands on more meds, so I tap into whatever reserves I have and tear around the Safeway to the massive blue dumpster. There are metal steps built into the side and I clamber up them and onto the top. I see the rope ladder dangling down and I leap onto it, pulling myself up with my weakened arms. I can’t hear the zombies and I pause, worrying I lost them at some point and didn’t do my job.

  “They’re coming, get up here!” my ladder guy calls, and I scramble up the remaining rungs.

  It feels like a long way, but once I’m up and look down to help pull the ladder in, it’s not that high at all. I wouldn’t want to fall, that’s for sure, but my arms feel like I climbed a mountain, not a story and a half.

  “Nice work,” he says, smiling at me.

  “Thanks. So how do I get inside?”

  “Wow, you are eager. Over here.”

  He leads me to a hatch that opens up on a stairwell.

  A dark stairwell.

  “Oh.”

  “Here. Don’t lose it,” he says as he hands me a flashlight. “And be quick.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  I climb down the dark stairs using the flashlight until I reach a door that opens into a hallway a lot like the one I was led down when first brought into the sporting goods store. I take a wild guess at which direction gets me out and I choose wisely. Once in the main section of the store, I don’t need the flashlight anymore. There are faint lights on and the cooler section is glowing in the distance like a frosty, white mecca. I walk out past the cash registers and turn to look down the length of the front of the store, hoping the pharmacy is up here and not in the back. I spot it to the far left, just past the bank, and I jog down to it with a smile plastered on my face.

  After a search that takes far longer than I would have liked, I find it. There aren’t many, maybe enough to last me a month, but that’s a whole lot farther than my two pills would have gotten me. I actually sag against the shelves when I have them in my hands. Maybe I can find more later. This buys me a lot of time and maybe, if I’m very, very lucky, I can have even more. I’m full of hope and happiness as I leave the pharmacy and I swear there is a very real bounce in my step. Luck has certainly been my lady on this adventure, and as I grab myself a new toothbrush, I completely forget the fact that that bitch always runs out.

  I’m golden as I walk carelessly through the store. I’m smiling and carefree as I go into the hall to head for the staircase. Trouble is the last thing on my mind when I step onto the first step, then the second, then third. It’s on that fourth step that I’m screwed.

  I haven’t turned on the flashlight. I figured I wouldn’t need it. They’re stairs. They’re not hard to figure out. But dark ones make it hard to see what’s ahead of you and what is ahead of me is a zombie. He turns when he smells me and I can hear him sniffing the air. I immediately pocket the pills and the toothbrush, pull my knife out of its sheath and start to step carefully back down the stairs. I’m in a very tight space with this guy and I don’t want to engage him here. I can’t swing my arm wide enough to stab at his temple and I do not want to go for the eyes, they are way too close to the mouth. He lumbers down the steps after me and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s a shambler. If he was a speed demon, I’d be done for. I make it back to level ground and check over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone, and so far we are. He follows me down and into the hall, arms outstretched and reaching for me. This hallway is no wider than the stairwell and I curse the walls boxing me in and pray I get a chance to hear Jordan say he told me so.

  “We should head for the desert,” I mumble to myself, my voice trembling.

  The zombie continues to stalk me backwards down the hall.

  “No walls, no doors.”

  I’m coming up on closed office doors, and as I try each one, I find them all locked tight.

  “We could sleep out under the stars.”

  I’m running out of hallway. Running out of options.

  I am always running out of time.

  I try one last door, one last hope, and thank God it opens. It’s the janitor’s closet and my eyes latch on to a mop standing in the corner with a long wooden handle. I grab it quickly and turn in time to face the infected just steps away. I rear the mop back and then shove it up and forward at an angle into the guys mouth, through the soft palate on the roof and up into his brain. I have a moment of pure relief when his arms drop and his body starts to sag forward, signs that he’s dead and done. I drop to my knees, exhausted. He also begins to drop and his skull must make contact with the mop handle because his body weight comes crashing down on it, the cloth end lodging into the floor between my knees. The wood of the handle is old and weathered and splinters beneath his weight. When it snaps, a large chunk drives into my thigh, piercing it.

  I cry out in agony and stare down at the wood still sticking out of my leg. Tears blur my sight and I feel like I might throw up, but I figure that can’t be good for infection, so I do my best to hold it together. I hear the hatch at the top of the stairs fly open and footsteps come thundering down. The guy who led me here, my ladder guy, spots me and comes running down the hall, his gun trained on the motionless zombie.

  “Are you hurt?” he asks before seeing my leg, then he swears and holsters his gun. “Never mind. Here, let me help you. We need to get out of here.”

  He helps me up and I want to pass out from the pain in my leg. I have to use him as a crutch and keep all weight off of it or I will not make it two steps. I hear his walkie crackling and can make out questions about his position, asking where he went. Others on the roof must have noticed he’s missing. We somehow make it up the stairs and he walkies to the others that we need help, that I can’t walk and he can’t carry me the entire way. He lays me down on the ground and I hear other people running toward us. I close my eyes against the sun, against the pain and then I feel myself starting to slip away. The last thing I hear is Jordan’s voice on the walkie, calling my name, telling me he’s on his way.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I think she’s coming around.”

  “You’re right. You’d better go tell him.”

  “He’s busy with Taylor, they’re working on the door.”

  “Evey. We promised.”

  “It’s not like he can do anything to help,” Evey grumbles.

  “She’s hurt and liable to be scared. His simply being here will be helpful.” The woman’s voice hardens. “Go get him.”

  I hear Evey’s feet leave the room slowly, she’s obviously in no hurry, and I try to open my eyes. I’m blinded for a second by the overheads, but I blink and look to the side to find an elderly woman, probably in her eighties at least, smiling warmly at me. I smile back not really knowing why.

  “There you are,” she says gently, her voice encouraging. “How do you feel? Are you in pain?”

  I frown and take stock of myself quickly. I have a headache and my right leg feels tightly compressed. It doesn’t hurt, there’s simply a lot of pressure.

  “No, not really,” I mumble, my mouth cotton dry. “May I have…”

  The elderly woman nods in understanding and goes to the sink to get me a cup of water. I look aroun
d and realize I’m lying on a cot in a kitchen. Or maybe it’s the break room. It looks different now with the chairs and tables stacked and folded up against the far wall. The woman brings me the cup of water with a straw in it and helps me drink slowly. I mutter a thank you and let my head fall heavily back down.

  “You’ll be tired for a bit,” she tells me, taking a seat in a chair by my cot and reaching for my wrist.

  She takes my pulse and watches the seconds tick by on the clock on the wall. When she’s satisfied, she lets go of my wrist but keeps hold of my hand, pressing it between her own.

  “We gave you quite a cocktail. Pain meds and sleeping pills, not a healthy combination but we didn’t have anesthetic and we had to continue flushing the wound out to make sure we purged all of the wood chips. It would have hurt too much to keep you lucid.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We had to cut your pants off of you. You’re wearing shorts under the blanket, so don’t worry. You’re decent she says with a quick smile, but then she looks at me seriously, her face concerned. “Before your friend gets here I want to talk to you about what was in your pockets.”

  The blood drains out of my face and I feel caged and scared.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “Do you want to tell me what they are?”

  I shake my head mutely.

  “Probably don’t want to tell me what you’re taking them for either.”

  Again, I shake my head.

  “Your friend Jordan, he knows about them. He’s the one who found them. He found a toothbrush in your pocket and laughed, but then he found the pills and he looked confused. Worried.”

  “He should be afraid,” I moan to myself, and cover my eyes with my free hand.

  “Your business is your business. You don’t have to tell anyone any of it. Do you understand?”

  I nod my head without uncovering my eyes.

  “Do you need them? Not as in ‘do you need them to get high’, but do you need them to survive?”