Zombieclypse (Book 2): Dead Shelter Smashwords

by A. Rosaria

  “They killed me.” He looked at Ralph in tears. “I told you so. I told you would be sorry. I told you I would be sorry.”

  The back door burst open.

  “We need to go!” Ralph yelled.

  Skip pushed Ralph aside and kicked the female zombie as it tried to get up. Ralph had forgotten all about finishing that one in his haste to get to Skip. Another mistake that could have cost him dearly. Skip raised his heavy, booted foot and crashed it down on the zombie‘s head. “You killed me! Killed me!” He screamed at it as he kept stomping with his feet, flattening the zombie‘s head.

  The first zombies managed to get out of the store and came in fast, much too fast. Ralph grabbed Skip by the elbow and pulled him away.

  “Run!”

  All fight was lost in him and sorrow filled his eyes. The big guy allowed Ralph to pull him away. Ralph felt sorry for him, but right now wasn‘t the time to console him. Besides, he had enough antibiotics to help the man if he got infected. If Sarah managed not to turn after days of being sick, a few hours would unlikely harm Skip. The big guy would live; Ralph was sure of it.

  They ran into the alley and back out into the street. Skip led the way to the other side of town. The few stragglers in their way were easily dodged. Larger groups they avoided all together by taking a block around them. They never slowed down until they left the town‘s boundary. This time, they had to run hard to get away from the zombies following them. These ones were much faster. It made Ralph wonder what really was going on here. Things were not as he thought they were. The zombies had evolved into something else, something more, something much more dangerous. They should become frailer, slower, not stronger and faster. They shouldn‘t be able to jump or open doors. Could it be they started regenerating against the decay of their body, as not to completely rot, to keep the virus or whatever ran the corpses going?

  Ralph and Skip found a hiding spot among a cropping of bushes about five hundred feet from the town‘s border. They had a clear line of sight. A zombie coming their way would be seen way before it really closed in on them, leaving them enough time to get the hell away from it.

  Skip sat down, crying. The sound of his sobs carried over, which wasn‘t good if it continued, because the zombies would be drawn in by his wails, and by God what if the zombies learned to run, how would they escape then?

  “Skip, stop crying.”

  “I‘m dead. I‘ve been bad. I‘m going to hell. I killed. I killed them, my da and ma.”

  “They were zombies?”

  Skip shook his head. His eyes red with tears, he looked at Ralph, who stood in front of him. “Not zombies. Ma made pie and asked me to feed Dad. He went all black and died. Ma tried to stab me after for killing Da. I tried to get the knife away from her; I stabbed my own ma. They both died. I fled and now I‘m going to die.”

  Ralph thought he knew what really happened. Skip‘s mother must have tried to kill the family. It was horrible for Skip to think it was his fault. They really left him no choice, though Skip obviously blamed himself and suffered for it.

  “Your mother must have been infected. That must be why your dad turned ill and all black. It must be some other kind of sickness. Not your fault at all.”

  Skip looked hopeful at him. “Am I going to heaven, then?”

  “One day I‘m sure you will, but not anytime soon, because you won‘t be dying today.”

  Skip shook his head. “No! I know I‘m dead!”

  “Not everyone who gets bitten dies.”

  “I know. I know many things, but my bite is deadly. I can feel it in my blood. I know that. But it‘s okay now, I‘m going to heaven.”

  The part about heaven, he said with a serene smile on his face. Skip was a little too much at peace with dying for Ralph‘s liking.

  “I‘ve got fish medicine for you. It will cure you, so you won‘t have an infection.”

  Skip wiped his eyes and smiled broadly. “Really? I‘m going to live? Not die? That‘s great!”

  Skip tapped Ralph‘s pockets. “Give me the fish medicine now.”

  “Later. We first need to find some water, and I‘ve got to read the instructions. Once we are at your camp I‘ll give you the medicine. I also need to give this medicine to my friend, Sarah. She‘s been sick for days now. I‘m really worried about her.”

  Skip jumped up, smiling. Drops of sweat shone on his forehead in the bright sun. With a steady pace, he led the way along the road, while keeping close to the tree line. The trees cropped closer together the farther they went. After about a mile, Skip took a dirt path off the road and into the forest. The deeper in they went, the thicker the trees. Their branches forming a canopy above their heads, covering them from the sun and casting them in shade. He couldn‘t see far ahead and felt surrounded by the unseen. In every shadow could be danger waiting for them.

  The long walk turned to be hard on Skip. He was sweating profusely and had been silent the whole time. He stared ahead, dragging his feet, slowing down, from time to time wobbling on his feet. Ralph followed closely behind him just in case he fell. Skip stopped and Ralph bumped into him, making the man stagger forward.

  Unfazed after regaining his footing, Skip said, “We are close, but it is so, so quiet. Ramona is always chatting and Jimmy should be playing around.”

  The only sound they heard besides their own breathing were birds chirping in the trees and the occasional rustle of the leaves.

  “Are you sure we are close and not lost?”

  Skip shook his head, slumped his shoulders, and sat down. “I‘m tired.”

  “Are you sure we are close?”

  Skip raised his arm, pointing at a rock and then to a tree. “I remember that tree.” He swung his finger at some bushes. “The camp is behind there.”

  Ralph saw no movement and no sound coming from there. If they were indeed this close, they should have heard something by now. And surely those from the camp must have heard them. Skip was loud. By now, someone would have come to see who it was. Ralph wanted to ask Skip again if he was sure, but Skip dozed off. The day must have been exhausting to him. No wonder really. Ralph felt fatigued with all he had endured today, and they still had so much to do before the day‘s end. There would be little rest for him, best let Skip have his.

  Ralph took their surroundings in and listened for any zombies. It would be a real shame to leave Skip alone and come back to a half-eaten corpse. He walked around the bush large enough to hide a tank, half expecting to find an empty space. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. Two pairs of tents were broken over the grass clearing; bags were torn open, their content strewn over the ground; empty cans and pans littered over clothes. Though what hit him hardest was the sheer amount of blood. Every item, every single grass straw had blood on it; blood splattered everywhere. And no bodies, not a single one.

  The sight made Ralph feel eerily naked and defenseless without a weapon on him. Bending over, he grabbed a large cast iron fry pan. It was heavy, making him feel a little bit more comfortable, but not by much. The hair on his arms rose when a cold chill passed over him. Whatever happened to this camp was in no way good. Zombies, humans, whoever did this, they were not friendly and certainly not sane. This was the work of butchers, mad man.

  A bloody trail led from the camp as if bodies were dragged away. Ralph wasn‘t sure if it was smart to follow the trail. The safest choice was to return to Skip, take him far away from here, find shelter, and take care of him before finding another way to get a working car.

  About to turn his back, he heard branches give way and he whirled around. A young girl about fourteen stood with a small pistol in her hand. Her brown hair was braided in a long tail over the front of her shoulder. She had a yellow dress reaching just below the knees and sturdy army boots under. Her other arm lay limp next to her body. Blood seeped from a shot wound at her shoulder, over her arm, and dripped down from her fingers. She grimaced in pain. Her face was pale, though her eyes were hard with intent. The gun w
as aimed straight and true, and she would shoot him if he moved. He was sure of it.

  His frying pan wouldn‘t do much good at this distance. He could throw it and it might hit her, though it was more likely he would miss and get shot for his effort. She gestured with the gun for him to drop the pan. The heavy pan thudded on the ground on top of the bloodied grass.

  “Shhhhh,” she said. She had a much deeper voice than he expected. “I‘ll shoot you if you make noise.”

  As if to make her point clear, she trailed the gun to his head. He already believed she would shoot. It was clearly telegraphed from the way she looked at him. There was no doubt in her, no insecurity of not knowing what would happen. She knew exactly what she would do. She had the same kind of eyes Frank had when holding him at gunpoint. She must have been shot when the camp got raided. He assumed she was from this camp, from Skip‘s group, because if she was part of the raiders she most likely would have shot him on sight. Instead, here she stood, sizing him up with distrustful eyes.

  “Are you Ramona?” A gamble, but it could ease the tension a bit if she knew that he knew about them.

  Her eyes widened, but her face quickly regained composure. “Ramona is dead. How do you know her name?”

  She looked at him with suspicion. Her frown intensified; her eyes squinted together. The idea to shoot him if he said the wrong thing was painted on her face.

  “Skip told me about her. He is with me now. I left him resting not so far from here.”

  She looked to her right and left and back at him. “Show me.”

  She kept about three arms lengths away from him as he led her, the gun pointed at the back of his head.

  Skip was now lying down, snoring. She gasped, seeing the bite wound. Her gun hand trembled as it trailed from Ralph to Skip. Before she could shoot, Ralph grabbed her hand, startling her. She looked at him, shocked, and dropped the gun. Her wide eyes started tearing up.

  “How, how did this happen? Why him!” Her voice rose above a whisper.

  Ralph shushed her, aware that whoever attacked this camp might still be around. She stared a long time at him, shaking her head, a silent how formed on her lips.

  “They got to him when he saved me from them. We met at a hospital while scavenging.”

  She looked over Ralph‘s shoulder. “Frank?”

  “Dead. After we split up at the hospital, they were attacked by some guys. I managed to save Skip.”

  “Oh, God, no.” She looked distressed, biting her under lip. “Have you seen a woman among them?”

  It was now that he saw the resemblance. The girl looked like the woman killed by the bandit.

  “You‘ve seen her, haven‘t you?!”

  She grabbed him by his shirt. The shock on his face must have been telling. She dropped to her knees, burying her face in her hands, and started sobbing. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably. Skip stirred awake. With a grunt, he sat up.

  “Brenda? Is that you?”

  He walked over to hug her. Brenda pushed him back. “Stay away from me!” Her hand swiped the ground around her for the gun. Before she could get it, Ralph picked it up. Her intent was clear. A bullet in Skip‘s forehead. He wondered how many times people had been killed needlessly this way.

  “He‘s going to turn!” she yelled, tears streaking her cheeks as she did. If any bandits were hiding in ambush, they would be right up on them by now with all this yelling.

  “Give me back my gun!” She tried to grab it from him, but he held her at a distance. She was stronger than she looked. It was only because her other arm was near useless that he could hold her off. It must hurt, hurt her a lot, but despite the pain, her face stricken white containing it, she kept on. Skip saw this all with a look of lost expectation on his face, too sullen to realize it was best he got out of sight. Instead, he stood there gawking.

  “Calm down!” Ralph said.

  Brenda didn‘t show any sign of calming down. She was fighting to get free from his grip on her wrist. She bit his hand. Ralph didn‘t want to hurt her, but he felt he was left no other choice. Still holding her wrist, gritting the pain away, he hit her injured shoulder with the butt of the gun. She gasped in pain, her eyes rolled back, and she crumbled to the ground.

  “You killed her!” Skip said accusingly.

  “She just passed out. She would have killed you if she had gotten her hands on this gun,” Ralph said as he waved the gun in front of Skip‘s nose.

  “She doesn‘t know. But you do, and I do.”

  Skip didn‘t look so fresh. He was still sweating and had shadows below his eyes. Exhausted and wounded. The bite wound was a nasty one, tore Skip‘s skin right off, though luckily not any muscle. The bleeding had stopped, but it hadn‘t scabbed over yet, and it looked inflamed.

  Ralph took a quick walk around the perimeter of the camp and stopped at the blood trail. He followed it until it ended at tire tracks in the dirt. The attackers must have transported the bodies somewhere else. Why? This was all strange to him, totally unnecessary and incomprehensible. The whole world seemed to have turned into a madhouse, as if it wasn‘t enough that the dead walked the Earth, the living had to add to the horror of it as well.

  The attackers were gone, and there seemed no need to assume they would return. This place had been cleaned of everything living, except for Brenda, who they must have overlooked in the confusion during and after the battle.

  Searching through the tents, he found a quarter-filled bottle of water, a few cans of spam, and nothing else useful. Brenda was still unconscious, breathing evenly. Skip sat next to her, dozing off again. Ralph read the instructions for the penicillin—one tablet per fish tank. How in the world should he relate this to a human. He had no idea how much and how often he should give Skip a tablet for it to work. Was it the same amount as a pain killer, a max of four pills daily? Or was it just one a day. Time was of the essence. The sooner Skip was up and running, the better for them all.

  Ralph held one tablet out to Skip. “Take this.”

  Skip smiled. “Fish medicine.” He put the pill on his tongue, the bottle against his thick lips, and gulped it down within seconds.

  Ralph decided he would figure out later how much of the medicine he needed to use, this one would have to do for now. Maybe Brenda knew more, or else he would have to take a guess and hope for the best. His main priority was to get the medicine to Sarah. To do so he needed a car to get back as quickly possible. He had seen a car dealership in town. It was near the border, but the building was heavily damaged on one side. Maybe there was still a working car inside. He would have to return to be sure. At least he had a gun and a frying pan.

  It was funny, well not really funny, that he kept returning to that zombie-infested town. It was like he had a date with death and death kept standing him up and giving him a rain check. That was until they met, and then it would be final, and everything he did would not matter. He swore this would be the last time he would go back.

  Brenda groaned. Not wanting any repeat of what happened before, he instructed Skip to go sit somewhere away from her, preferably out of sight. With some difficulty, Skip stood up and shuffled a few feet away and sat back down, breathing heavily. Not having the heart to make Skip move farther away, he left it at that. Brenda‘s eyes fluttered open. Trembling fingers touched her injured shoulder, and she winced. She scrambled up, hand stretched to get at Ralph. She got up too quickly for the state she was in and fell back down.

  He couldn‘t really blame her for being angry. He made her faint and, in a less honorable way, attacked her where he knew she was hurting. Brenda left him no choice. Wherever her mind was right now, it wasn‘t where sense was. Ralph pulled the gun out.

  “You move again and I‘ll shoot.”

  Brenda glared at him, but he saw the flicker of understanding in her eyes. She knew he meant it. Although, when he pulled the gun, he wasn‘t sure he would. However, feeling the trigger, the cold in his hand, the itch to press it, he knew if things went sour he would
shoot. He would feel bad about killing her, though he wasn‘t completely sure of that either. He felt nothing when he killed the bandit, but he felt bad about killing Lilly‘s friend. She had already been dead; her bite wounds were not the kind you survived. The two guys at the store, they were the ones that got to him. He had not intended to kill them, hadn‘t wanted or needed to, but he still killed them. They forced his hand. The numbness it left him made it much easier to pull the trigger now, and after all the killing he had seen—the battle with the soldiers, the destruction of a town—any trepidation he had before was gone. It disturbed him. Still, it also kept him alive. He would shoot her and probably not regret doing so.

  That was just plain wrong. Obviously, the girl didn‘t really mean any harm. He hated how easy it had become. This wasn‘t the way he wanted it to end, to lose himself in this violence, become like the men who attacked this group, who killed Frank. He lowered the gun. Brenda stepped back, her eyes growing large in wonder.

  “I‘m sorry, Brenda. I can‘t allow you to shoot him.”

  She looked from him, to the gun in his hand, and sideways to Skip. “But he‘s going to turn and attack us. I‘ve seen it happen before. Please believe me. It‘s better this way. You don‘t want a zombie his size after us.”

  Ralph remembered a zombie of similar size coming after him and if not for a sledgehammer and the help of Norm, he would be dead by now. She had a point. He really didn‘t want a zombie of that size after him ever again. Though his chances now with a gun were much better than going bare handed against such a zombie. Besides, there was no certainty that Skip would turn. The medicine he had could prevent his death. It was when people died that they turned, unless they were immune then they just stayed dead. He told Brenda this. She shook her head, unbelieving.