After they had put some distance between them and the zombies, Wallace pulled Darien into a tight alleyway. He checked to ensure they were alone there, then beckoned her to squat behind a rather full dumpster with him.
“Okay, this isn’t hard, but you have to pay attention. Let’s show you how to run a rifle,” he said. Using his rifle as a prop, he quickly instructed her on its basic functions, how to remove and insert a magazine, how to charge it, and how to clear a jam. He showed her the fire selector and explained what each of the three settings meant, and cautioned her not to use full automatic. Their rifles had likely been through a lot, and one long stream of automatic fire could blow out a barrel. He showed her how to hold the weapon, how to aim using the attached red-dot sight, what to do if the sight failed, and how to keep the weapon indexed. He stressed that putting her finger on the trigger was something she would only do when she was ready to shoot.
“And aim for the heads,” he finished. “You have to hit them in the head to bring them down, otherwise you won’t even inconvenience them.”
“Got it.”
“Okay. Show me what I just told you.”
Darien was a quick study, but she was hesitant when it came to guns. Even though she was able to repeat almost eighty percent of what he’d told her, she seemed unsure about the weapon itself. Wallace coached her through the functions again, and asked her to repeat it back to him. She got it all right, but Wallace was annoyed by her skittishness.
“It’s a tool,” he told her. “Like the bat, only more effective, and safer to use.”
“I don’t like guns,” Darien said. “I never have. I never will.”
Wallace didn’t like that. “Listen, if all this prep work is inconvenient for you, I’ll be happy to be on my way,” he said. “You can have the rest of the day to yourself. Get your hair done, get a pedicure, whatever the hell it is you want to do.”
She sighed. “Sorry. Just tense.”
Wallace waved the apology away. “Then get used to the fact you need to learn how to use this firearm, because it could save your life... and mine,” he said. “Take off your pack. I want you to put this vest on.” He hefted one of the tactical vests he’d taken of the bodies at the barricade. “This will carry your spare magazines, and I’m going to put some boxes of ammo in your pack.”
Darien did as instructed. Wallace coached her through slinging on the vest and adjusting it so the fit was tight but comfortable. He pointed out the pockets that held a few magazines, and told her to pull each of them out and replace them so she would get used to the motion.
“Don’t lose a mag, because if you do, it’s going to be hard to replace,” he told her. “We’ll have to go through the process of loading some up, but not now. It’s getting late.”
“We really need a car,” she said.
“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten. There’s a Ford dealership over on Sepulveda.”
“I said a car. We need something that’ll get us across the county without breaking down.”
“What, you want a BMW? Maybe a Tesla? Beggars can’t be choosers.” He placed four boxes of ammunition in her backpack and handed it back to her. “Here, put this on.” He slowly stood and readjusted his backpack straps, then slung the rifle over one shoulder so that it hung before him, barrel pointing downward. He indicated Darien should do the same. Once her rifle was positioned, he slowly walked back to the mouth of the alley and took a good long look around. He motioned her forward.
“Okay. Let’s get back to it.”
They journeyed back out into the quiet streets. The sun was very hot and, as so often is the case in LA, clouds were completely absent from the sky. They trudged along in silence, each contemplating the bleak future, the dismal present, and the uncomfortable load they were being forced to bear.
They found the Ford dealership, looking mostly unmolested and abandoned. The walk had been much farther and more exhausting than Wallace had imagined it would be, so he was grateful to find the dealership when they did. He was starting to feel really rung out.
“I’ve never stolen a car before,” Darien said, “so you’ll have to show me how to do it.”
Wallace rolled his eyes. “It’s a dealership, Darien. They have these things called ‘keys’ on the premises.”
“Listen, I’m sorry for what’s happened to you, but do you have to be such a raging asshole?” Darien snapped.
Wallace snorted. “Do you have to be a functional idiot?” he shot back. “Use your head. If I could hot-wire a car, we’ve walked past hundreds of candidates, right?”
Darien glowered at him but said nothing.
As they approached the dealership, Wallace pointed at a tall, black pickup truck sitting out on the lot. It was loaded with aftermarket accessories, like a four-inch lift kit, huge off-road tires, and a thick, flat bumper that housed a winch and a sturdy, powder-coated combination push bar and brush guard.
That’s the ticket.
The building was locked, leaving Wallace with no choice but to hurl a brick through a door around back. The shattering of the glass sounded as loud as thunder, and he jumped back as shards exploded inward, skating across the dealership’s tiled floor.
“Christ!” Darien said, shielding her face.
“Sorry, I’m an amateur when it comes to breaking and entering. Keep watch out here while I check this place out.”
Darien looked stricken. “What, you want me to stay out here?”
“Only for a couple of seconds. Follow me in and stay by the door. Watch the glass.”
Wallace swung his rifle into his hands and switched off the safety. He pushed in through the mostly empty door frame, taking care to avoid cutting himself on any of the shards that remained behind. Glass crunched under his feet, and he was thankful for the thick soles on his boots. He took a moment to sweep some of the glass away with his foot, as Darien wore only thin running shoes. He pointed to the cleared area, indicating she should stand there. She did as he instructed and turned to face the parking lot with wide eyes. He was satisfied to see she also held her rifle in both hands, mimicking his stance.
Inside, the air was still and smelled of new rubber tires and factory-new automobiles. Wallace moved through the dealership quickly but quietly, rifle shouldered.
In one darkened office marked GENERAL MANAGER, he found a wall-mounted lockbox. It was, of course, locked. Wallace swore under his breath and made his way to the service bay, where he found a crowbar. He checked in with Darien as she stood by the door, now half-hiding behind a tall potted plant.
“Everything cool?” he asked.
“For now,” she said nervously. “Please hurry.”
“On it.”
Wallace returned to the office and attacked the lockbox with the crowbar. It took several minutes, and it wasn’t a quiet, stealthy operation. By the time the box’s door popped open, he had nearly ripped it from the wall. Inside, dozens of key fobs and key rings hung in neat rows. Wallace felt like he’d just won the lottery.
He had to go through the tags on each fob in an attempt to match up the keys with the truck outside. That took five minutes, and by the time he found it, he had two dozen key sets lying on the desk behind him.
2017 FORD F-350 SUPER DUTY
SRW TUXEDO BLACK AFTRMKT LIFT/WINCH..............$68,670
Damn, Ford sure is proud of their trucks!
“Wallace!” Darien’s voice sounded strangled, like someone who wanted very badly to shout but couldn’t. “Wallace!”
Wallace bolted from the office holding the truck’s key fob in his left hand and the pistol grip of his rifle in his right. Keeping low, he scurried through the dealership, weaving around a pristine Mustang GT and a Taurus SHO. He picked his way across the field of shattered glass and found Darien still cowering behind the plant, her rifle only haphazardly pointed at the broken door.
“Something’s outside,” she gasped.
Wallace put the key fob in his left pocket and shouldered his rifle, keeping
to a semi-crouch. Through the many large floor-to-ceiling windows the scene appeared quiet. The couple studied the picture while each held their breath. Sun glistened off the many windshields of the fleet of cars parked outside in the lot. It was hard to see if there was anything out there at all, for the glimmers made the illusion of movement.
They were both looking at a zombie for a long moment before either realized it was right there. For some reason it stood waiting, just on the other side of a nearby car, staring inside. Yet it made no movement.
“Oh shit! There it is!” Darien whispered.
“I see it,” Wallace hissed. “Huh. It’s not moving… that’s—”
“Fucking weird, is what it is, and let’s get the hell out of here,” Darien said, and her voice was barely a whimper.
“Calm down. It doesn’t see us… I don’t think.”
“Well, why wait for it?” Darien tugged Wallace’s sleeve. “Come on.”
“All right, all right! Keep your shit together, Darien! The truck we need is right at the front of the lot.”
As he spoke, another creature appeared. It walked up behind the first zombie and came to a halt a short distance behind it.
“Aw, hell.” Wallace felt sweat break out across his forehead.
Another followed right behind that one.
“Wallace, we’ve got to get out of here.” Darien was edging into full-on panic mode. From the corner of his eye, Wallace could see her trying to raise her rifle and sight on the zombies while simultaneously being afraid to move. The end result was she just wound up jerking the rifle barrel up and down a little bit.
“We will,” Wallace said. “Just keep your shit together, Darien.”
He watched as the zombies continued to gather outside. It seemed they were almost assembling in the area, but they did not advance upon the dealership. The gathering reminded Wallace of birds settling on the same fence.
“What are they doing?” Darien muttered.
Wallace shook his head. “Maybe they don’t know we’re here, but maybe they…” He didn’t know how to conclude his thought.
“Well, look. Can we please just get in a car or a truck or a boat or a rocket ship and get the hell out of here?”
“Right. You ready to move?”
“Hell, yes!” After an instant, she looked over at him. “Wait, you do have a plan, right?”
“Yeah. Shoot the fuckers in the face before they mass and roll up on us.” Wallace looked at her rifle. “Might want to switch off the safety, like I showed you. And put the scope on your target, like I showed you.”
“Do you have a fucking plan?” she snapped.
“Like I said, we’ll shoot as many as we can, then run for the truck. I have the keys. Pretty simple, right?”
“Okay. When?”
“Now would be a great time, don’t you think? Start shooting.”
Darien made a frustrated noise in her throat and raised her rifle to her shoulder. She waited, then glanced over at Wallace.
“Well?”
“Darien.” Wallace was getting pissed now. “Would you please shoot the zombies,” he said, slowly and clearly.
Darien turned back and sighted on a zombie. Nothing happened.
“The trigger—it won’t move!”
“Switch off the safety, Darien,” Wallace said, finally at wit’s end. “Pay attention, and remember what I told you!”
Because if you don’t, I’m cutting you loose, he said to himself as he raised his rifle and sighted on a target of his own. He heard a muted metal click as Darien set her rifle to SEMI.
“Ready,” she said.
“Then shoot!” Wallace hissed.
Darien fired and yelped at the loud cracking noise. A cartridge flew out of the weapon’s ejection port, bounced off the wall, and rebounded off her head. Her bullet hit one of the zombies, but too low—it tore through its cheek, blasting out fragments of teeth and jawbone as it went. The zombie jerked, but didn’t fall.
“Hit it again!” Wallace shouted, dropping one of the zombies himself. “And by the way? Your rifle works.”
As Darien took another shot that hit the zombie right in the nose—it went down—Wallace straightened up and fired three rounds in quick succession. Two zombies went down, another floundered from a graze across its skull but recovered and shambled forward. Darien kept firing from behind the plant, the concussions of the reports causing leaves to explode out in the parking lot. Another zombie danced slightly as the bullets ripped through its chest and shoulders.
“Head shots! Head shots!” Wallace screamed.
“I’m trying!”
“Well, it’s not going to get any easier, because now we gotta boogie!” Wallace lowered his rifle for a moment and pulled out the key fob. He pressed down the remote start button on it, and a moment later, he heard the throaty cackle of a diesel engine springing to life.
“Follow me!” he yelled as he stepped through the windowless door frame they had entered through. “And try real hard not to shoot me in the back!”
“Oh, go fuck yourself!” Darien shouted.
“Yeah, you might get your wish,” Wallace said as he straightened and drilled out four rounds, taking down another two zombies as they picked their way around a row of cars. Beyond them, though, he saw at least three dozen more approaching. They stepped out of doorways and climbed out of buildings. One pushed itself right through a high window. It crashed to the sidewalk below in a shower of thick glass. Wallace caught a glimpse of it thrashing about, still moving, still trying to hunt.
“Wait for me!” Darien called, pushing her way past the plant she’d been using for concealment.
Wallace gunned down another ghoul at a range of ten feet. “Better idea: you move your ass!”
Darien came out firing. She missed more than she hit, and she didn’t down a single zombie. She did shoot up a lot of cars, and even sent one round ricocheting off the parking lot’s surface, where it narrowly missed Wallace’s feet.
Wallace sprinted halfway to the truck, then stopped to clean up some zombies. He shot them over the tops of cars as Darien caught up. He swung around and oriented on the idling F-350. It was clear.
“Get in the truck!” he shouted to Darien. “I’ll hold them back!”
Darien needed no further prompting. She slipped past Wallace as he continued dropping zombies, but the closer they got, the harder it was. There were too many. And while most of them moved slowly, some were coordinated enough to get some speed up. Twice, he was almost taken down by ghouls who got close enough to grab him. He killed one, and leaped away from the other, which fell flat on its face. That was fortuitous, for a virtual stampede of zombies tripped over their fallen brother, collapsing into a pile at Wallace’s feet. It would have been comical if they weren’t trying to sink their teeth into him.
“Wallace!” Darien was at the passenger door of the truck. She stood on the broad chrome running board that ran the length of the cab and yanked on the hulking F-350’s door handle.
“Get in the truck!” he shouted.
“It’s locked!” she shrieked.
Well, fuck me! Wallace sprinted for the truck, body-checking a thin, emaciated-looking zombie that lurched into his path, arms and jaws spread wide. Wallace didn’t even slow down and slammed into it with such force that he sent the corpse bouncing between two cars as it fell to the ground. As he ran, he let his rifle dangle by its strap as he reached back into his pocket for the key fob. He pressed the unlock button manically, again and again and again. Dare kept tugging on the passenger door, and when it suddenly popped open, she fell right off the truck’s running board. She shouted when her bottom hit the hard concrete of the dealership lot.
“Get up!” Wallace had to skid to a halt and seized his rifle again so he could gun down two zombies that immediately shambled toward Darien. She yelped as the bullets crossed over her and ripped through the grotesqueries, returning them to death’s everlasting embrace. Without wasting a moment, she gathered h
er feet under her and practically launched herself into the tall truck. Wallace juked back to the driver’s side as she yanked her door closed. He fired three rounds into another zombie as it reached for him, but the shots weren’t aimed. They passed harmlessly through its chest, but one round must have impacted its sternum, for it was driven back long enough for him to slip past it. He reached for the Super Duty’s driver door, yanked it open, and hauled himself inside.
But not before a child zombie wearing ripped Spider-Man pajamas grabbed onto his foot. It sank its teeth into the padded collar of his work boot and began shaking its head back and forth, like a great white shark using its teeth to knife away a huge chunk of blubber from a floating whale carcass. Wallace kicked at it, attempting to dislodge the ghoul. The zombie’s teeth tore away from his boot, but it held onto his ankle with one stubborn, clawed hand. Wallace tried to turn the rifle on it, but the truck’s steering wheel was in the way. Likewise, lying mostly on his right side, his pistol was trapped beneath his body.
“They’re coming!” Darien screamed. “They’re coming!”
Zombies swelled outside the truck, reaching for it, moaning over the idling diesel engine. Wallace felt a bolt of sheer terror rocket through his body. They were within seconds of descending upon him, where he knew they would tear him from the cab and rip him to pieces.
Matthew—
Wallace kicked at the kid zombie one more time, then pulled his legs inside the truck’s cab. The pint-sized corpse held on, snarling like some sort of rabid animal. Wallace snarled back as he slammed the door closed on its wrist. He could feel the zombie’s cold, dead fingers flexing around his ankle, still trying to pull itself toward him despite the fact that the heavy door separated it from its prey.
The zombies hit the truck like a fetid tide, slamming it with their fists.
“Go! Go!” Darien screamed.
Wallace knew he had to insert the key in order to put the pickup in gear. He fumbled with it, trying to slide the key inside the ignition lock on the steering column. The cab was filled with the moans of the dead and the terrified shrieks of Darien. Wallace realized he was screaming as well.
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