Keep Your Crowbar Handy

by SP Durnin

  The girl seemed to lose strength after her outburst, and let Maggie take her back to the couch where she sat close to Leo again.

  "Jesus. It was a mistake, alright?" Nichole exclaimed. "Nobody got killed! Alright the kid there caught a punch in the mouth and the girl's shaken up, but they're fine! I swear, you people are only making a big deal out of it because the little drama queen over there…"

  Jake had never, in his entire life, considered hitting a woman before that moment.

  Foster beat him to it.

  The resounding smack almost knocked Nichole over in her chair. The sound of the blow echoed through the common room, causing Leo and Karen to wince.

  "Now you listen to me, you pathetic little clam-box…" Foster began.

  "Chief," Jake said. "It won't do any good. Look at them."

  Foster saw he was right. Nothing had penetrated either of their self-centered, pea-sized brains. The restrained pair sat looking daggers at everyone in the room. Jake could clearly see what would happen if either of them ever caught one of their group alone.

  George shook his head in disgust. "What do we do with these morons?"

  The writer gazed at them and Kat saw his shoulders sag, as if suddenly burdened by some terrible weight. He slapped a magazine into one of the pistols, racked the slide, and turned to the others.

  "We give them a choice," Jake said.

  * * *

  After cutting both free of their duct tape restraints, Jake and the others marched them down to the first floor and through the access door to the tenement next door. The pair became visibly nervous as he motioned them to the rear of the building, and then attempted to dig in their heels when they all reached the door to the secure parking lot.

  "Why are we going out there?" Nichole's eye was blossoming into an enormous shiner. Jake had to admit, Karen had one hell of a right hook.

  "Keep moving," he said.

  "Hey, man, those things are out here!" Mike exclaimed. "We…"

  "The goddamn security gate's shut," Foster growled, fingering the safety on his Glock. "They're zombies, you stupid son of a bitch. Not kangaroos. The things can't even run, let alone make a twelve foot vertical leap, ya dipshit."

  They all filed out into the lot, and Jake called a halt forty feet from the door.

  "You two have a decision to make," he said, refusing to look away from them. If he was going to commit this act of barbarism, the very least he could do was have the courage to look them in the eye. "Everyone here has had enough. You don't possess a single moral between the pair of you, and for the life of me, I can't imagine why you both weren't in prison when the outbreak occurred. Regardless of what either of you think you're entitled to, you don't have the right to treat others like dogs, dirt, or slaves. You don't get to use people for your amusement against their will."

  The pair stood scowling at him until he pulled the keys to his Jeep from his pocket and tossed them at their feet.

  "Leave."

  "What?" Nichole demanded, eyes wide.

  "Neither of you can be trusted. You're not welcome here. I'll keep an eye on Mike here with Kat and Maggie." He pointed at Nichole. "Foster and Laurel will take you inside and pack up whatever belongings you two have."

  The pair immediately started arguing that he couldn't just toss them out, that they'd be killed by the dead roaming the streets. Jake pulled the pistol from the small of his back and thumbed the hammer. The sound of the gun cocking shut them up, mid-hissy fit.

  "This is not a debate. Or a request. You were both out for a while, and we had ample time to talk about it." He motioned at the others, who each nodded in turn. "By unanimous decision, you're out of here. If you'd shown one iota of guilt or remorse over what you tried to do, we'd have just locked you in one of the top apartments until we're ready to leave. They're reasonably secure with the lobby and stairwell doors barred. But you've made that option unworkable."

  There was a sour taste in Jake's mouth. Doing this was almost surely a death sentence for the self-centered pair, but they'd all agreed on this course of action and there was no turning back.

  "Now, if either of you think I'm not serious," he firmly took hold of the remains of his conscience and raised the weapon, "then I'll save you some trouble or put a bullet in your head right now. You have one minute to decide."

  "You can't!" Mike stepped forward, face darkening in anger. "You can't just…"

  "Back! Up!" Foster snapped. Jake realized George and Kat had stepped up beside him, guns pointed at the wide-eyed duo.

  "I'd do what he says. He'll shoot you in the head." Kat had one hand braced under the grip of her 9mm, her other index finger on the trigger. She dropped her aim. "I'll shoot you in the balls."

  Barron scurried back to stand beside the blonde.

  Nichole was trying to find a sympathetic eye somewhere in the group, but every gaze held contempt and steely resolve.

  "Well?" Jake asked. "What's your decision? We have preparations to make, and quite frankly I'm sick of the sight of you."

  * * *

  As the Beast roared away, Jake gave it a silent goodbye.

  Mike was hunched over the wheel in concentration. He couldn't drive a standard very well, which explained why he'd wrapped a sports car around a pole. Nichole was screeching at the top of her lungs, telling the world to kiss her ass as she continually flipped them the bird. The pair motored west to the freeway and out of sight down the on-ramp under Foster's watchful eye. George had one of his silenced long-arm rifles on the tenement's roof and had informed them both if they tried anything funny, after he had to climb all those steps, he'd vaporize them.

  They'd taken him at his word.

  After securing the gate and outer door again, Jake waited for Foster as the rest retreated into the safe house. A certain redhead, watched from where she stood leaning against the lobby wall, as Jake paced back and forth across the dusty floor.

  "Damn those two," Jake fumed. "I can't believe I had to throw them out with the maggot-heads everywhere, but I didn't have any choice!"

  "We really didn't," Laurel agreed.

  "If we'd let them stay, they'd have killed someone. Even if we locked them up, they'd need to be guarded every minute." He went on pacing. "We don't have enough people to watch them every hour of the day and still make preparations."

  She nodded. "Maybe with twice as many we could've…"

  "I don't understand what they were thinking." He was still lost in his head and missed Laurel's attempt to sooth him. "How did they expect to get away with it? Even if they'd had the brains not to OD Karen, they had to have known we wouldn't let that shit slide."

  "They didn't care." She pushed off the wall and strode towards him. "No one forced the syringe into Barron's hand. Nobody put a gun to Nichole's head and told her to disregard any sense of human decency."

  "I can't believe I tossed them out. You know the worst part? I don't feel guilty about it." He looked towards the rear of the building. "Not one damn bit. What does that say about who I'm becoming?"

  Laurel just put her arms around his waist and held him. Jake sighed and wrapped his around her shoulders in turn, enjoying the rare moment of peace. She began stroking his back while her breath warmed his neck, her cheek resting under his jaw as her fingers worked their magic. When Laurel spoke, her lips brushed Jake's throat and sent a slow thrill up his spine.

  "You need to stop taking all the blame on yourself," she murmured. "We all agreed with what had to be done. It wasn't just your decision."

  He grunted noncommittally.

  She bit him lightly along the line of his jaw. "That's not the correct reply." Laurel's hands moved to rest on his narrow hips.

  "Aw jeez," Foster grumbled, as he stumped up from the stairwell. "Would you two get a room already?" His knees were bothering him, and he'd really been looking forward to blowing Mike or Nichole's head to a pulp from ten floors up. Laurel stopped nibbling at Jake's ear, but retained her grip on his hips.

  "George,
don't be a butt head," she said with a smile. "Did they keep going?"

  "Yeah. Hopped on I-270 north. Barron was weavin' through all the cars like a moron." He laughed. "I'll be shocked if he and Blondie last more than a day. Two at the most."

  They filed back into the safe house and the fixer sealed its immense door plate again, locking out the horror of the world for a little while longer.

  "Well, this old man is exhausted. Gonna head into the office for a bit, keep an eye on the outside. See what info I can get out of the Internet." George cracked his neck again. "We should start gathering a few things from the immediate area tomorrow. Since we're headin' out soon, we could use some supplies from the camping store down the road. Bottled propane, water purification tablets... That kinda thing."

  "We'll take a look tomorrow," Jake replied.

  "Goodnight you crotchety old turd," Laurel said, grinning.

  Foster beamed. "Ya got a lot better in the last week, Red. Have ya talking like a Squid in no time."

  As he trudged up the metal stairs, said redhead gave Jake an inquisitive look. "Are you hungry?"

  He shrugged. "Not really. I guess I could eat, but I don't have much in the way of appetite right now.

  Laurel sauntered over to the stairs. She put one foot on the lowest step, cocked a hip, and looked back at him, blatantly exaggerating the curve of her spine.

  "I was thinking about heading to bed. It's been a long day, and I'd like a little sack time." Her lopsided grin made a slow appearance. "Feeling energetic?"

  He smiled. "Race you."

  * * *

  Tim's Emporium was technically a camping supply store even if half its stock items were army surplus.

  Jake had visited it a few times since he'd come back from overseas, but he hadn't purchased much. Now, he wished they could take the whole fucking place with them. Tactical boots, thermal gear, balaclavas, canteens, can openers. Everywhere he looked, items that would be oh-so-useful on the road seemed to jump out at him. He fully intended to leave with as much gear as Forster's old, half-ton could hold.

  Especially since just getting there had been an adventure.

  The writer had decided that only he, Allen, and George should make the trip, but had been convinced—read: bullied—to reverse his decision by the women. Men going out and about, sans female supervision, incensed them. Laurel was livid—and as it turned out really sexy when she was mad—that he was trying to protect her. Kat just laughed. Maggie offered to arm-wrestle him to see who went on the outing so, when Jake lost, he could stay and keep the home-fires burning. None of their arguments swayed him, so they did something so sneaky, so underhanded, that it shocked him to his very core.

  They went to Gertrude.

  After she'd heartlessly explained to the three males the possible shortage of feminine hygiene products—in such a way that even the stubborn Foster cringed—Jake, Allen, Laurel, and Maggie headed out to begin the trek.

  Kat got to stay behind, since she'd been the one who'd come up with the idea to get Gertrude involved in the first place. She took the news well. She had pouted adorably which Jake ignored her—but it was so cute— and had loudly sworn revenge.

  The four kept to alleys and backyards, due to the scattered dead shuffling about nearby, while attempting to stay quiet and out of sight. They crept within a block of the Emporium before being noticed by the creatures. Then, over the course of about three seconds, the following happened.

  As they came to the end of yet another privacy fence, a lone zombie stumbled around the corner in their direction, coming almost nose-to-nose with Jake. Everyone, including the zombie, froze. Jake dropped into a crouch. He'd opted to keep his crowbar handy, since he didn't know how loud the Hammer pistol actually was with its suppressor attached, for any up close encounters.

  The creature looked to be in pretty good shape; if you took into consideration it was missing everything in its abdominal cavity and only had one dull eye. The other had been torn out somehow, allowing them all to get a good look at the maggots squirming about in its empty socket.

  It saw prey was nearby and its arms came out to grasp anything unlucky enough to be within reach. The thing's dried lips pulled back from grey teeth, and its jaw dropped open as it prepared to let loose a moan, possibly alerting more nearby infected. Then the chiseled end of Jake's crowbar speared it under the jaw. As the creature raised its arms, he'd taken a wide, two-handed grip, stabbed the steel point up behind its chin, shattering the things palate and finally, speared its brain. The zombie slumped to the broken surface of the alley and lay still.

  Nomex gloves or not, he didn't feel like touching the horrible thing. Jake grasped the weapon's hook end with both hands, put his foot on the corpse's lifeless jaw and yanked his crowbar free. After wiping blood from the steel as best he could on the overgrown strip of grass lining the fence, they continued onward.

  Reaching the alley's mouth, Maggie and Jake carefully checked the street for any mobile dead, while Allen and Laurel watched their backs. There was movement a block to the south. Jake checked it through his binoculars. It turned out to be a group of eight ghouls, moving away from their party. The four used abandoned cars as cover and, keeping low, moved across the street to the opposite alley.

  The rear door of Tim's was next to the loading docks. Jake bypassed this door via his universal lock-pick crowbar, cursing at it under his breath all the while. Upon entering the building, they fanned out around Allen. He proceeded to secure the door with a length of chain and a large C clamp that he'd brought in his Alice pack, wrapped in a blanket to keep it from clanking when he moved. They all wore tactical vests along with empty packs and carried suppressed firearms. Jake had his monstrous pistol; Allen and Maggie both carried MP4s, while Laurel wore a silenced Glock in each thigh holster, and gripped a third. Each of them carried five full clips, preloaded with ammunition for their weapon of choice. Granted, this was supposed to be a sneak and peek, not a run and gun excursion, so none of them planned to empty five full magazines. But just in case...

  The redhead pulled out the secure radio Foster had stuffed in her pack and punched in channel 007. He'd insisted on it, claiming he'd saved Ian Fleming's ass in '58, so the guy owed him at least that much.

  At the time, everyone believed the aging fixer was full of it.

  "George? We're here. Over."

  Foster's voice crackled back seconds later. "I hear ya. Forget that over crap. Ain't nobody around to get mixed up with while we talk. What'd ya all do? Stop for snacks?"

  "We ran into a friend in the ally, but we're inside now. We have to check it still," she replied quietly, looking to Jake.

  "Fifteen minutes, tops." He watched the short hallway that led to the showroom floor.

  Laurel relayed his words to Foster, who acknowledged and signed off until their next transmission. If they didn't call him in half an hour, he'd know they were in trouble. Or dead.

  They moved through the hall, making sure the small office halfway down was clear. Its only occupant was presumably the store manager, who was missing the back of his head due to eating the barrel of his Luger. Pressing on with Laurel and Jake in the lead, the four moved onto the sales floor.

  If it existed and was somehow connected to survivalism, it was in Tim's Emporium. Uniforms, flight suits, gas masks, backpacks, and camping gear hung from the walls in abundance. There were bins full of water purification tablets, canteens, web belts, machetes. Seemingly, anything and everything a zombie apocalypse survivor could want, except for a safe location to keep it all.

  "I think I'm in Heaven. Seriously." Allen looked around with raised eyebrows. Jake's slim friend was certain he'd heard angels sing when he caught sight of all the stockpiled gear.

  Nine minutes later, once they were sure there were no creatures lurking and the front doors were secure, Laurel called George again to let him know they'd begun collecting items. He'd monitor his radio and once they gathered the needed supplies at the dock door, roll out, meet th
em, load up, and scram back to their safe house. As she signed off again, they split into two teams and started looting. Luckily, Tim's had actual shopping carts and not those stupid, little baskets all the oh-so-trendy stores provided.

  "Boy, listen to all this," Laurel said. "Collapsible shovels, hatchets, socks, boots for everyone, balaclavas, water purification tablets one-thousand count, canteens, magnesium fire-strikers, machetes, Field Fighter knives, full spool of para-cord, car battery chargers, antibiotic cream, iodine, double A batteries, NVGs..."

  "Night vision goggles," Jake said. "I doubt they'll have any here, though. We should check the control tower at Bolton Field on the way out of the city. They should have a few sets there for the air traffic controllers."

  "Huh. Good idea. I never would've considered that."

  "And here you thought you only kept me around for my body." He grinned and emptied the battery display.

  She went back to their list. "Trench spikes, hand-crank meat or coffee grinders...Really? For what?"

  "They can be used to make one of the two ingredients in thermite," he said absently.

  The redhead paused. "You know, it's a little scary you know that. It's always the quiet ones."

  "So you're saying I don't need to be worried you might be a closet psycho? Awesome."

  Laurel gave him a blank look.

  "The quiet thing," Jake explained. "I mean, you weren't quiet last night when…"

  "That's different!" She blushed furiously.

  "Just saying." He began dropping canteens into the cart as they moved down the aisle. "I know the walls in George's little fortress are thick and all, but…"

  That earned him a tight-lipped grin. "I'll get you for that."

  "I live in unbridled terror of feminine retribution."

  "Oh, gods. Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes.

  "Terror."

  She cocked a hip and gave him a raised eyebrow. "You can be cut off, you know."