Barnes reached the back door and tried the handle. “No luck,” he said to Ellis.
Ellis shook his head. “Damn. Guess that means we gotta go on the roof.”
Barnes looked at him. “What do you mean?”
Ellis stepped back and pointed at the open skylights. “We just have to get up there.”
Barnes looked and smiled at the other private. “Nice one. Course, this works out well another way.”
“What’s that?”
“Locked all around means there’s a good chance something worthwhile might still be in there.”
“Truth. Let’s get up there. Still got your cord?”
Barnes checked his pack. “’Bout fifty feet. That should be plenty,” he said.
Ellis went over to the dumpster and grunting, heaved it back up onto its wheels. He pushed it over to the side of the arching structure and stood on top, trying to reach the skylight. He was about a foot short, so climbing down, he picked up a couple of stray cinder blocks and threw them up on the dumpster lid, hitting the side of the building with a deep booming sound.
Climbing up, Private Ellis was able to reach the skylight, so he grasped the edge and pulled himself up, hooking a leg in the opening and straddling the window as he pushed open the skylight to allow easier access. Barnes pulled his rappelling cord from his pack and secured an end to the bottom of the heavy dumpster. He then tossed the bulk of the cord to Ellis, who sent it down into the gloomy interior of the hardware store.
Private Ellis slid down the rope and looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. He was standing in the fasteners aisle, with nails on one side, screws on the other and a smattering of glue on the far end. He could see a center aisle in the store, separating it from the front rows and in the rear there looked to be a small office, flanked by a key making station. His attention was distracted by the rope wiggling and the bulk of Private Barnes blocking the light as he slid through the window. He didn’t notice a dark shape move down at the front end of the store, slipping down a nearby aisle.
Private Barnes slid down quickly, landing heavily. He shook his hands and straightened sheepishly, then looked around as well. “Looks like this place has been home to just birds and bugs,” he said, looking at a row of boxes damaged by rainwater which had fallen through the skylights. The air had a musty smell and there was evidence of a decent growth of mold on the rain-ruined boxes.
“Yeah, but let’s see what we can find. Should be something good here.” He started for the front of the store. “You check those aisles over there and let me know what you find. I’m going to check the front.”
Private Ellis stepped away and Private Barnes limped slightly to the back. He discovered the battery section, so he grabbed a few batteries for his weapons’ light and flashlights. He grabbed some more for good measure, stuffing them into his pack. He moved back along the wall, passing the gardening tools and sprinklers. He found the hunting section and saw there was still some ammo on the shelves. Jackpot. He grabbed a bucket from the gardening section and started to fill it with the ammo, from shotgun shells to rifle bullets.
Private Barnes was so focused he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him and became aware only when a hand was placed on his shoulder. “Finished already, dude?” Barnes straightened up and turned around, coming face to face with a badly decayed zombie. Its skin was pulled tight around its skull, emphasizing the tears in its bluish skin. Its arms were thin, but as Barnes turned around, the hand that was on his shoulder was matched on the other shoulder by the zombie’s other hand, which was missing three fingers and before Barnes could move or scream, the zombie’s head darted forward to sink its black teeth into his face. The private cried out as the zombie hung on and bore him to the floor, tearing at his face.
Private Ellis was up front filling his backpack with seeds from a display case. These were always good for trade when they found a community of survivors and sometimes went in for goodwill. He had a handful of packets when he heard Private Barnes cry out. He stood up and shouted, “You okay?” When he didn’t get an answer he started to move towards the back but found his path blocked by a large shape moving in his direction. Ellis dropped his pack and whipped his rifle up, but just as he was about to fire a searing pain exploded in his leg. He looked down and to his horror, saw a small zombie child furiously chewing on his calf, tearing off chunks of meat and drooling blood down its little chin. Private Ellis dropped his rifle as he fought off the little zombie, throwing it bodily away from him as he fell to the ground, unable to stand on his injured leg. As he fell, he saw the little zombie get back up and head back in his direction, followed by the large zombie. Ellis pulled his knife and waited for the little bastard to get closer, determined to take out the zombie that just killed him.
Private Hook and Private Gomez ran quickly down the street to the grocery store. They didn’t want to be caught out in the open and didn’t want to get cut off without a retreat in case the zombies swarmed them. That had happened in Missouri and all of them were still wondering what to make of the change in the zombies behavior.
Reaching the front of the building, Hook checked the door before declaring, “Locked.”
Gomez nodded and they trotted around to the back of the store looking to see if the supply door was open. A quick check revealed it was locked as well.
“Ideas?” Gomez asked.
Private Hook thought for a second. “No time to pick it, let’s go back to the front and break the glass.”
Private Gomez nodded and the pair returned to the front of the building. It was a generic grocery store, with yellowing posters advertising sales inside. Some of the posters had fallen down, revealing a glimpse of the dark world inside. Gomez put his face to the glass and looked around for a long minute, checking to make sure there were no leftover shoppers looking for fresh meat from the butcher section.
With nothing to see, he nodded to Hook, who used the butt of his rifle to break the bottom section of one of the doors. Clearing the broken glass with his boot, he ducked under the center bar and moved into the store, rifle at the ready. A small in-store bank was in front of him, with a small teller counter and smaller office. Behind the bank was a long hallway leading to the checkout registers. As he moved slightly to his left, he scanned the frozen food section in front of him and the cereal aisle next to that. Nothing was moving and he waited for Gomez to catch up.
“Which way?” Hook asked.
Gomez pointed to the right. “Looks like there might be some canned goods that way. Let’s check.” The floor was littered with discarded goods, scattered hopes of survival. A corpse was lying in the corner, a blood streak on the wall and a skeletal hand gripping a can of beans explained what this person died for.
The two men walked carefully past the packaged meat section, avoiding the dark and rotting packages still hanging on the brackets. The rice pudding had turned grey, much to Hook’s disappointment, since it used to be his favorite.
Gomez wiped his face as he moved to the next aisle. He hated these kinds of missions, where he never knew what was coming next. The next aisle could be full of zombies, just waiting to pounce. Give him a stand up fight with plenty of ammo any day.
They turned down the canned section and the shelves were nearly bare. There were a scattering of cans worth taking, so they put those in their packs. As they worked, Gomez stopped suddenly.
“You hear something?” he asked.
Hook immediately put down his pack and cans and picked up his rifle. “No. What did you hear?” he asked nervously.
Gomez shook his head. “I thought I heard a wheezing sound, like a dog or something?”
Private Hook relaxed a bit. “Could be. Might be one that got in here and is sleeping. Had a hound once that snored louder than my Dad’s uncle. And that was a trick to do, let me tell you.”
Gomez laughed softly. “Had a girlfriend who snored loud once. Denied it forever, but, hombre, she could shake the—wait. There it is again!”
Hook and Gomez listened and sure enough, they could hear a high-pitched sound, like a low pressure steam valve. It seemed to be coming from a nearby aisle. But in the building, it was hard to tell for sure.
Grabbing what they could, Gomez said, “Let’s see if there is anything in the dried goods, like rice or pasta.”
“Good plan,” Hook agreed. “You remember which aisle?’
“Should be the far one.”
“You go first.”
“Jerk.”
Private Gomez moved quickly to the end of the aisle and glanced around. Directly in front of him was the produce section, long rotted away. The air still had a sickly sweet smell of decaying fruit and vegetables and the floor had turned brown from the slime of the rotted food. Gomez swung out and trained his rifle at the dairy section and waved the other man forward. “Clear,” he said.
Private Hook moved out and darted around the end of the aisle, scanning for threats before he nodded to Gomez. “Clear.”
Private Gomez turned around and moved to the next aisle. As he glanced at Hook, he saw the other soldier’s eyes get wide. Spinning around, he raised his rifle just as Hook shouted.
“Behind you!”
The cry echoed in Gomez’s ears as he flicked on his weapon light to engage the threat. A fast moving zombie, probably no more than seven years old, was literally hurtling down the back of the grocery store, his teeth bared as his breath wheezed out of his mouth. His little bare feet pattered on the tile floor as he rushed to his prey. Gomez waited until he had a definite shot, then fired just as the zombie boy leaped into the air, the bullet passing harmlessly next to him.
The zombie was four feet from landing on Gomez, who raised his rifle to defend himself. At the last second, Private Hook fired, hitting the zombie in the head and spraying zombie brains all over Private Gomez.
Gomez wiped his face as best he could, hesitating a second to give the dead zombie a kick. “Stupid shit,” he growled.
“Umm, dude?” Private Hook said.
“What?”
“Get your gun up, we got company.”
Private Gomez looked and saw a sizable number of zombies moving in their direction from the Seasonal section. Their glowing eyes and pitiful moans made him sweat all that much more. “Oh, Jesus.”
“Come on!” Private Hook grabbed his partner and bolted up the aisle, trying to head for the door. The pair skidded to a stop at the end of the aisle, nearly running into a second group of zombies that had come to the store to shop and never left.
“Shit! We’re cut off!” Hook yelled, firing into the face of a nearby ghoul. “Get back!” He fired again, completely missing the horde and putting a hole in a bottle of soda. Orange mist sprayed over the zombies and some looked up as a citrus-smelling rain poured on them.
“This way!” Private Gomez sped back to the deli, darting around the case. He let Hook clear the opening before he and the other private started shoving a heavy stainless steel covered table over to the opening. Just before they got it there, they tipped it over, barricading themselves from the approaching undead.
Private Hook raised his rifle and took careful aim, killing the nearest zombie. Another took its place and as he looked, he could see many more coming from the far side of the store, their glowing eyes swaying slightly in the gloom. He turned back to Gomez.
“We got trouble, bro. There’s a whole lot more of them than there are of us. I think we need to… hey, you okay?” Hook asked as he brought his flashlight up. Gomez was sitting on another table, holding his head with one hand while he tried to turn off his weapon light with the other.
Gomez looked up. “I feel weird, man. My head’s spinning and my gut feels wrong,” he said weakly.
Private Hook shined his light on Gomez’s face. He could see dark streaks on Gomez’s forehead, mingling with the sweat that was there, trickling down into Gomez’s eyes. Private Hook knew immediately what had happened. When the little zombie died, the brains got showered over Gomez. When the private sweated, he got the virus into his eyes, giving it access to his bloodstream.
Gomez was infected.
Private Hook cursed. This was not turning out the way he had hoped. He fired at the horde again, killing a zombie who slid down the display case, leaving behind a dark stain on the grimy glass. The rest of the zombies pressed forward, reaching out, trying to grab at the two men. A short zombie was flattened against the glass, its facial features spreading out against the thick panes.
“Come on, let’s see if we can get out of here.” Private Hook grabbed Gomez by the arm, ignoring his cry of pain. Hyper-sensitivity to touch was a late stage symptom of the Enillo Virus, but if Gomez was complaining now, then the virus had indeed evolved and was faster than ever.
The two men stumbled through a back door, finding themselves in the meat cutting room. Hook left Gomez in a chair as a loud crashing came from outside. Looking out the window, Private Hook could see the zombies had forced the barricade and were spilling into the deli area, looking for thin-sliced humans.
“Think, think, think!” he muttered to himself, pacing back and forth. He searched around the room, but the quick glance he gave it didn’t show him anything. Gomez groaned and Hook went over to his side.
“Hang in there, man,” he said, knowing there was nothing he could do.
Gomez looked up. Already dark circles were forming around his eyes. His feverish skin was slick with sweat and his breathing was labored.
“I can feel it taking over,” he whispered, slumping his head down onto his chest. “I feel like my mind is slipping away, bit by bit. Madre de Dios, it hurts.”
Private Hook’s reply was lost as the zombies plowed into the door, shaking it violently. They began hammering on it as others started pounding on the windows. Hook knew he had run out of time.
“Leave me, man. I’m dead,” Gomez whispered, tipping out of his chair and sprawling onto the ground. His skin was pale and he pulled his lips back in pain as a spasm racked his body.
“Not yet, you ain’t,” Hook said, moving a meat rack in front of the window and locking the wheels. It wasn’t much, but it might stall them a bit. He had nowhere to go, but he was going to make sure they paid for every bite they tried to take out of him.
Gomez whispered something inaudible from the floor. Private Hook looked down and saw he didn’t have much time before he was going to have a ghoul in here ahead of the others. He hated to kill his friend, but in this world it was kill or be eaten.
Kneeling down, he quickly stripped Gomez of his weapons and ammo, ignoring the whimpers of pain, figuring to make them last as long as he could. Who knows, maybe he had enough to kill them all and get out of here.
Gomez whispered again. Hook heard him, but wasn’t sure of what he said. Leaning down, he asked Gomez, “Say again?”
Barely audible above the banging, Gomez said, “Door.” and moved his head slightly towards the far wall.
Private Hook looked in that direction and saw light coming from underneath a large rack. Hook stood up and ran over, pulling the trays away from the wall. Just as he reached for the handle, the door leading to the deli burst open, slamming into the prone Gomez and knocking him several feet in the opposite direction. Several zombies tripped into the room, crashing into the racks Hook had strategically placed to slow them down. Two of them knelt down to try a bite of Gomez, but when they got close enough, they stopped and smelled him for a minute. Hook watched in horror as they straightened up, leaving Gomez untouched. Jesus, they know! he thought.
As Hook turned the handle of the door, he glanced back and the last thing he saw before leaving was Private Gomez rising slowly to his feet, his milky eyes searching hungrily for his former friend.
Private Hook hurried out the door and slammed it shut behind him. Pounding from the other side hurried him away from the building. Cradling Gomez’s weapons in one hand, keeping the other on his own gun, Hook began running back to the convoy.
Thorton is goi
ng to be pissed, he thought as he ran.
Major Thorton was lounging in the sun when the three men he had sent to check the houses came trotting back. They carried improvised sacks and were grinning at each other. They stopped in front of the major and showed their prizes like kids with Halloween candy.
Thorton heaved himself upright and peered into the sacks. The first one held an assortment of canned goods, from Spam to Spaghetti-O’s. The next sack had a supply of ammunition, most of it for shotguns. Thorton was reminded about the nature of small towns in general. If they had any guns at all, they tended to be shotguns, which were relatively useless for zombies, or really big-bore handguns, which were good for one shot. The further east he went, the less he was finding for his men’s arms, which was going to present a problem if they ever had to face a serious horde.
The third sack held about three dozen cans of various fruits and vegetables, as well as a remarkably ample supply of porno magazines. Thorton looked up at the soldier who just shrugged. Ken shook his head and waved his hand at the three, who scurried off to show their comrades and share their booty. Chances were pretty good the men had found liquor as well, but they could keep it. Thorton figured it kept the men happy enough.
Just as he was going back to his chair, the front door of the hardware store banged open, spilling two soldiers into the walkway. They rose to their feet slowly and seemed unsteady in the bright sunlight. Thorton shouted out to them.
“You two! Get over here and report!” he said loudly.
The two soldiers jumped slightly at the sound of the major’s voice. Slowly swiveling their heads, they locked onto the major’s position and began moving in his direction. One, Private Ellis, seemed to have injured himself and had a nasty wound on his leg. The other, Private Barnes, looked like he had something fall on his face.
America the Dead Page 19