Keep Your Crowbar Handy

by SP Durnin

  "Maggie does. Noticed it right off. Think it's because she was in charge of the equipment for the YMCA and her firehouse's medical supplies," George said.

  "Do we have a direction?" The writer demanded, staring grimly through the windshield.

  "Oh, yeah. Loud and clear, right, Gertie?" Rae asked.

  "The signal has been stationary for almost two hours," she replied, hunched over in front of the Mimi's tech station, tapping away at the keyboard. "The interface is working perfectly, Rae. You should be proud of this. I must say, dear, its operating system is almost elegant."

  Jake moved up beside Foster. "Let's go."

  * * *

  Gardner trekked ever northward.

  He'd left Newport News, Virginia almost a month before and hadn't seen another living soul for far longer. He missed people. The last time he's been in contact with another human had been exactly sixty-one days prior.

  The young man managed to acquire—read: steal—over a dozen automotive batteries during the initial outbreak. The small solar charger he normally used to keep his LED flashlight powered had kept them alive for a while, allowing him to use the short wave radio sparingly to talk with other survivors nearby. One by one, they stopped responding to his daily calls. He tried repeatedly to contact them but, eventually, the large bank of Die-Hards had been drained.

  Unable to stand being cooped up—alone and barricaded in his third floor apartment—any longer, Gardner shouldered his pack and crept from the city under the cover of darkness. He moved slowly and steadily northward, avoiding towns and heading, hopefully, for Canada. He managed to remain unnoticed by the creatures by staying quiet, unseen, and alert, but every day seemed worse than the last. Every night seemed longer and darker than the one prior. Every fear seemed so much more terrifying.

  Gardner kept moving doggedly northward.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rae was becoming quite skilled at driving the Mimi.

  Foster allowed her to take control around noon, as the transport continued west on a single-lane road, looping around Wilmington, Ohio. It had taken them most of the day to reach the town's outskirts after changing course repeatedly and avoiding jams of abandoned vehicles. Encounters with the creatures had been minimal due to the party staying off the freeways and keeping clear of larger towns. It was difficult to do in the urban sprawl of the Midwest, but not impossible.

  Most of the ghouls that the survivors passed didn't even look in their direction, let alone try to claw their way into their vehicles. This was confusing to Jake in the extreme. The infected had been proven to search for prey through visual and auditory means, both of which two vehicles would provide. The only thing he was able to come up with was that—somewhere in their moldering brains—zombies recognized only the human form as a target. What it didn't explain was why some of them consumed any creature unlucky enough to be caught. Nor did it provide him any insight as to why some of their number (maybe one in thirty) not only noticed the vehicles but actively came after them.

  Was there an undiscovered difference in the more aggressive creature's brain chemistry which allowed them to reason if only on the level of animals? Did their rate of decomposition influence their cognitive abilities? Was it a defect that caused them to recognize vehicles as something holding prey or a higher level of mental awareness? Jake didn't have the first clue. He'd been a journalist, not a geneticist.

  Regardless, the Hummer had proven invaluable in finding their way through messes and even useful in dealing with the occasional aggressive ghoul. While the Mimi still set the bar when it came to splattering the nasty things all over the landscape, their new scout vehicle was more than adequate for ramming a few out of the way. Elle remained at the wheel, absently discussing where to start notching a body count into the dash with Leo, Gwen, and the still-silent Donna.

  As they passed Route 73, Foster called Jake's attention to an airfield just ahead, past one of the town's discount Supercenters. It was once a hub for DHL, but had been shut down a few years back when the shipping company suspended domestic operations in the United States. George suggested they use one of its hangars to shelter for the night since the facility had been all but abandoned and there was little chance of infected presence within. The party could use their Longarm sniper rifles to monitor the perimeter fence, insuring there were no breaks to allow any creatures to enter. There might even be a few pairs of night-vision goggles in the airport's control tower they could acquire—read: loot.

  Bowing to George's greater experience, Jake agreed that it seemed like their best plan. While the group could spend the night in the huge, pink transport, being somewhere a bit more open would give them a chance to decompress and plan their next move in relative safety. Rae turned the Mimi carefully towards the chain-link gate on the northeastern side, behind a row of warehouses, and brought it to a halt twenty yards away.

  Leo hopped from the Humvee, clipped the ridiculously small padlock securing its chain, and pulled it open to allow them entry. After the vehicles passed through, the young fan of swordplay clipped a large carabineer into the links, securing it again and hurried back to the vehicle.

  They trucked slowly across the empty airport, past the rear of the town's second Supercenter, to a cluster of small hangars near the north runway. Rae drove the Mimi past the partially open doors of the one farthest from the field's edge, then began to power the vehicle down while Jake, Laurel, and Kat exited through the rear hatch. The three ensured there were no creatures lurking within, prior to Elle pulling the door shut with their Hummer. Once she did, the only light within was what the party had brought along and the dim illumination leaking through the windows, three stories up the concrete walls.

  The survivors were busy over the next two hours, insuring any standard-sized doors were secure, setting up a portable camp shower, and refueling the Hummer from the tank of diesel at the rear of the hangar. Elle and Foster (even though he grumbled the entire time) trudged up and gained access to the roof. They spent a good while checking the fence line and were unable to find any breaks for curious zombies to enter. Laurel put together a meal using MREs and a Coleman stove they'd taken from Tim's Emporium, and Kat worked on the blade of her sword in the traditional way, alternatively dusting it with fine powdered stone and polishing it clean with rice paper. Gertie busied herself helping Gwen and Donna acquire some sundries from their stores. Underwear, socks, that kind of thing. She was quite firm that they needed at least a few changes of clothes. Apocalypse aside, it was always an emotional boost to at least feel attractive. Or just clean.

  It was well after dark, and Jake was in the transport's drive unit with Rae. George's female counterpart was walking him through the basics of her tracking system, explaining its hand-held unit. They were comparing readings coming in from Allen's locator to a map Foster brought along from his safe house, when Laurel found him. Her hair was still damp from using the camp shower and, as usual, that stray lock had escaped the elastic band at the base of her neck. It was half-sticking to her cheek, when she took a firm grip on the writer's shoulder and demanded that he eat.

  Jake attempted to convince her that he was trying to figure out where Skinhead and the other attackers had taken their friends, but he was clearly not going to win that particular argument. The redhead's arms crossed over her ribs and one hip cocked out, letting him know said line of discussion was closed.

  "Go, go." Rae waved him toward the rear of the Mimi. "There's nothing more we can do tonight. We'll be more apt to come with something feasible once we've all had some sleep."

  Laurel smiled and gave him the look. The one that said: See? Now be a good boy and march. It won't hurt. Much. Jake sighed and, with his lovely female handler close behind, made his way out to get a bowl of macaroni and beef.

  The two found some privacy at the other end of the hangar in a small office set against the exterior wall. That was the thing about the apocalypse. Any time you got the chance—in a safe place—for a little privacy, yo
u damn well took it. Their party consisted of good and honest people, but if they all didn't find ways to be alone every so often, they'd start sniping at each other.

  The lantern Kat's friend carried threw low shadows against the faux-wood paneling of the little office, as Jake grabbed a stray folding chair. He plunked down to eat with his plastic MRE spork and Laurel sat frowning next to him on the room's lone desk while he wolfed down the pasta. He looked different somehow. His face was unchanged. Jake still had the same serious gaze and strange, pale, sky-blue eyes, but they'd become shadowed. Not just from the weak light their Coleman lantern provided or the two-day's worth of stubble coming in on his jaw either.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  He shook his head. "Not really."

  "Well, that's right out of The Caveman's Guide to Life." She raised an eyebrow. "You'll be speaking in grunts and looking for wooly mammoths to hunt next, I assume?"

  Jake finished eating, pulled out a smoke, and lit up with a sigh. It seemed he had to explain his moods far more than he liked to everyone, ever since they'd dropped the whole leader thing in his lap.

  "Laurel, this is my fault. If I hadn't wanted to go for those stupid bikes…"

  She slammed the bottom of her fist down on the dusty desk. "What? You could've stopped it from happening? I don't think so. You would've been trapped in the cache with the others. Or maybe you could've been stuck with us in the Mimi, while they carted our friends off. Oh, I know! You could've been killed trying to keep that armored car from ramming its way into the safe house! That would've been so much fun, right?"

  "Well, I could've... Hell, I don't know." Jake dropped his face into his palm and closed his eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing. I have no idea how to get our friends back. I don't know what…"

  "No one expects you to be perfect." She said, gently.

  Jake kept silent. Smoke from the coffin nail eddied around his unruly hair and he slowly exhaled. Sweat was beginning to form on his upper lip, since there was no ventilation in the small office. The power in the area had failed more than a month earlier.

  She watched him brood for a few minutes, then decided to change the subject. "How did you pick up the Barbie duo? Kat told me a little about what happened, but she seemed pretty subdued, which for her is strange. I almost started searching the Mimi for body-snatcher pods."

  He chuckled, and told her about the hillbilly-psychos and their awful trophy display, which had prompted their party to send said hillbillies to that big ol' hootenanny in the sky.

  Laurel shook her head. "What the hell is happening? You'd think zombies would be bad enough, but it's like the people who are still alive out there have lost their minds."

  "It could be many of the survivors snapped due to stress." Jake stared past his cigarette. "More likely, it's the instant gratification mindset."

  "You need to explain that."

  "People have always wanted things they can't have," he said. "Say you walked into a music shop and found a guitar Pete Townshend played on tour, but you couldn't afford to buy it…"

  "Which would suck," Laurel interjected. "The Who were one of the best bands ever. Right up there with Parliament Funkadelic, The Ramones, Butch Walker, and the Rat Pack."

  Jake took a drag and gestured at her with his American Spirit. "While that comment proves, at least in my mind, that you have impeccable taste in music along with being the hottest redhead walking the face of the Earth, it's not my point."

  Laurel smiled at him widely as he pressed on. "Think about what would happen if you could just walk in and take it because no one was there to stop you. That's what we're living in now."

  She frowned again. "So... what? We're back in the Wild West?"

  "Actually, that's a pretty apt comparison. The only law back then was what you could enforce at the barrel of a gun."

  As she considered that, Jake stubbed out his smoke and lit another.

  "What's worse, some people who were prepared for this apocalypse, or outbreak, or whatever you want to call it, won't be anyone you'll want to hang out with." He looked down at his boots.

  "George was prepared," she reminded him, "and he's really nice. After you chip away all his BS and barnacles, that is."

  "True. But remember, that's because he's a crusty, old-school sailor." Jake inhaled more smoke and blew it from his nose, as he'd learned to do with the SAS. It burned his nostrils and the small discomfort helped him focus his thoughts. "Foster spent most of his life protecting people like us and our country. He's nothing like the scumbags we're going to come across. Take those bastards that sacked Rae's cache…"

  "Where?"

  Jake realized she was trying to cheer him up and, though annoying, it was working. "They were ready. Unlike Jo-Bob and the Moonshine-Jamboree who captured Gwen and Donna, they'd been trained. That's the kind of people I'm worried about. Militias, white supremacists, cults. Hell, a determined chapter of the Latter Day Saints Harley-Davidson Club could ruin our day, real quick."

  "Seen any of the last one's around?"

  "Not for a couple of months now. That's what I'm talking about, though. There aren't any authorities left to stop the wack-a-doos." Jake worried. "The ones who'll rape and kill and enslave other people to survive. Or even just for fun..."

  Laurel was silent as he finished his smoke. When the writer finally stubbed that one out on the floor as well, she took his hand and pulled him up from the chair. Jake stepped forward, allowing her to put her hands low on his hips to draw him between her knees. "You know what I think?"

  Jake looked at her curiously.

  "I think you try to take everything on yourself," Laurel said, hands sliding down the outside of his thighs. "You can't carry the weight of everything, you know."

  "I have to try." He smoothed still-damp hair away from her face with one hand, "We're on our own out here. One screw up, one avoidable accident, and we could all get killed. Or worse. Our lives depend on me anticipating…"

  Laurel's hands slid up Jake's thighs and took a double-handful of his buttocks. He jumped in surprise as she looked up at him, eyes dancing.

  "Did you anticipate that?"

  "Not so much," he admitted, stroking fingers along her shoulders, causing Laurel to shiver and take a quick breath. Her hands went up the small of Jake's back and took hold of his—now a bit ragged—GBGB shirt, pulling him close as her lips turned upwards.

  She cranked up the heat as they kissed from slow burn to flambé. Laurel continued pulling him lower while she scooted her firm posterior forward, until she half hung off the desk's edge. The redhead proceeded to slide her legs up over his while nibbling at Jake's chin. Her hands caressed the skin of his waist lightly and she smiled as the sensation sent a shudder up his spine.

  "I'm sorry I left you alone," Jake said softly, arms moving around her shoulder-blades. "If something had happened to you, I…"

  Laurel silenced him with more kisses while releasing the clasp on his web belt.

  It was really hot in the office anyway.

  * * *

  Kat was coming back from the only toilet in the—coed and ew—when she heard the moan.

  Luckily, her eyes had long adjusted to the gloom, making it unnecessary to take one of their few Coleman lanterns along, so she wasn't too concerned with being seen. Moving stealthily in a low crouch, she pulled her Grandfather's sword free of its sheath along her back. The ito or flat cord that wrapped the stingray-skin covered hilt was far more reassuring against her palm, than the composite grip of a pistol could ever hope to be. Reversing the blade so it stretched back along her forearm, Zatoichi style, she crept into the darkness in search of the possible ghoul.

  Kat loved the sword. It was easy to kill at a distance when you didn't have to watch the light leave your enemy's eyes, or get any arterial spray on you. Using a blade took skill. That didn't mean she wasn't competent with firearms. Her Native American father, a military lifer, had insured his daughter knew how to handle a weapon before she entered
the sixth grade. She hadn't turned into a gun nut like Foster, though. She understood they were necessary (Hello-o-o? Apocalypse?). She didn't have any qualms when it came to putting a gunpowder-driven, copper-jacketed solution through the forehead of a hungry, dead problem. Or a country-fried would-be rapist. Whichever.

  Padding along on silent, cat-like feet, she began to trace the source of the low sounds. She stalked forward and was just about to enter a small office at the far end of their hangar, when a barely-audible female voice murmured, Yes! A loud, breathy moan followed, letting Kat know that someone inside was about to take a trip on the "O" train.

  She did try not to look.

  Really.

  Peeking around the doorjamb, Kat saw her roommate's wavy, red hair. It was half-sticking to her sparsely-freckled shoulders, as she and Jake moved against each other in the sweltering, little office. Even though his face was hidden on the other side of her friend's hair, the way he held Laurel was unmistakable. Cradling her upper body, he supported her weight with one arm as they rocked against one-another.

  Kat's view was partially obstructed by a peeling, four-foot partition, causing her to curse mentally. She'd been trying to catch Jake in the buff. Unless she jumped, which would be a bad idea due to the possible noise her landing could make, all she could see was Laurel's back, the curve of one undulating butt cheek, and his upper torso. Jake and her friend were oblivious to their surroundings. The blue-haired young woman got the impression she might be able to enter the office without either of them registering her presence, but decided not to press her luck.

  The muscles in Laurel's arms grew taut as she clutched at Jake and bit her lip in an attempt to keep quiet, but she wasn't able to hold back. She had to bury her mouth against the hollow of his neck as she cried out and writhed wildly.

  Jake's supporting hand clenched into a fist and he shuddered. He managed to stifle a low groan but, though muffled, the sound sent a hot thrill up Kat's spine from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. The ninja-girl realized she was breathing really fast as Laurel gasped and had to make an effort to calm down. Then Laurel cried out softly and threw her head back, her face the picture of bliss.