Zompoc Survivor: Inferno

by Ben S Reeder

  The rest of the shift crept by as I tried to digest what I’d learned, but as the sky started to turn a lighter shade of black outside, I heard something that made my ears perk up. At first, it was hard to tell exactly what it was since the constant, low moaning of the infected almost drowned it out. Then it got louder and resolved itself into the low rumble of a train engine. The infected in the street turned toward it and started moving west. Just as I was about to go wake up Kaplan, though, the engine stopped and with it, so did the infected. I held still as they started looking around, and after a few minutes they started to move off in different directions. The implications rattled around in my head as I watched the sky turn a dark red through the windows. Someone out there was working on a train. Someone who knew how to not only work on a locomotive, but who might also know how to operate one. That could have meant a pretty good sized group of people. I logged the time and watched the last of the infected wander north. Without anything else to keep my brain occupied, my thoughts went straight to Maya. I tried to imagine where she was. The C-130 she’d been on had been trailing smoke from one of her engines. The Herkie Bird was one tough plane, and it could make it a ways on three engines, but I figured it would be a stone cold bitch to fly. I tried to imagine her asleep in the back of the Land Master. My brain knew her better, though. She would probably be racked out in the driver’s seat with the short wave set to scan. I wanted to hear her voice again, wanted her in my arms.

  Half an hour before seven, I heard movement in the hallway. “Chill, Stewart,” I heard Hernandez mutter as I took a step back toward the door. A few minutes after that I heard someone else moving around and heard Kaplan utter a soft curse before I heard his footsteps come down the hallway.

  “Anything to report?” he said from the door.

  “A few things, but only one thing of note while I was on watch. I heard a locomotive start up west of here and run for a few minutes about an hour ago.”

  “Hmm, we may have to keep aware of that on our way out. But for today, we look for a way out of town and supplies. Get yourself cleaned up, grab something to eat, and be ready for briefing by oh-eight-hundred. I want to be out of here in forty-eight hours.”

  “Lieutenant, I’m not a Marine,” I said tersely as I grabbed the M39.

  “No, Mr. Stewart, but I am and as long as I’m in charge, we run a tight unit. I don’t expect you to salute or to be in uniform, but I do expect you to do what you’re told, when you’re told to. Are we clear?” Even though he kept his voice low, he gave the impression he might as well be yelling at me.

  “Oh, I read you loud and clear, lieutenant,” I said as I stepped into the doorway. “I’m just not getting the same message you think you’re sending.” I stepped around him and went to the bedroom door. The bedroom was still dark in spite of the weak light outside, so I hit the flashlight and thumbed it to the brightest setting. Amy was sprawled across half of the king sized mattress in the graceful disarray that only kids, cats, and dogs seemed to be capable of. She stirred as I flipped the light from blue to white, and uttered a long suffering moan.

  “Turn the light off,” she grumbled and rolled over to face the wall. When her hand flopped against the wall, she rolled back over and sat up blinking.

  “Good morning,” I said with a false cheer.

  “Morning,” she offered listlessly. “What time is it?”

  “A little before seven. Time to get up and get ready for an exciting day.”

  “You’re an asshole,” she said as she got to her feet and walked across the mattress to the door. “I’ve killed people for being that perky before noon.”

  An hour later, we were all sitting in the kitchen with the last bites of eggs in a hole being wolfed down and lukewarm instant coffee warming our bellies.

  “We were lucky to find those three junk heaps last night,” Hernandez picked up the thread of the conversation. “If it ran, someone tried to drive it out of the city.”

  “If they tried to drive out of the city, odds are they didn’t make it,” Kaplan said. “The military and federal law enforcement blocked off the major roads, and local police covered the back roads under orders to shoot anyone who tried to make it past.”

  “So, most civilian vehicles you’re going to find in the city are either shot to shit, or more likely stuck in a permanent traffic jam. Even if we do find a working vehicle, how the hell are we going to get out of the city?” Hernandez asked.

  “Good question,” Kaplan conceded. “And I think it’s the one we need to address first. How did you get out of Springfield?” he asked.

  “On bicycles,” Amy offered. “We were ready to bike all the way to Wyoming if we had to.”

  “How did you get past the roadblocks?” Hernandez said.

  “We didn’t follow the roads out of the city,” I said. “I counted on the streets being backed up when I planned our route. We followed the easement beside the railroad tracks out of town. That got us past the worst of it, and we took rural roads the rest of the way to a little homestead we had outside town. There’s another problem with trying to find a vehicle right now. West of here is the Missouri River. You can bet every bridge across it is blocked or destroyed.”

  “So, we get ready to travel, find a way across the river and out of town, then we find a vehicle and head to Wyoming,” Kaplan said. In the distance, gunfire sounded, and all eyes went to the window. “And we avoid people if at all possible. Our first priority is shelter, then food and water. We’ll need some sleeping bags and warmer clothes.”

  “I saw a little market just up the road,” I offered. “I’m not sure how much they’d have, but it would be a start on the food problem. If they have a phone book and some maps, we can find the stores that have what we need.” I washed the last bite of my egg down with the last of my coffee and got up when Kaplan did.

  “Sounds good. Let’s get this place secured and get ready to move out for the day. Corporal, you and Mr. Stewart have latrine detail. Miss Weiss, you keep watch from the upstairs. I’ll see to the fireplace and our bunks.” Hernandez moaned at our assignment, but I kept my complaints to myself. I got the distinct feeling he was testing me to see how I’d react. We found a shovel and some other tools in the garage. The shovel got put to use right away.

  Once we finished taking care of our job, we grabbed a pry-bar and crowbar we found and double timed it to the back door and pushed the refrigerator back in place. While we waited for Kaplan to come down, I went to my pack and pulled one of the two olive drab shemaghs from a side compartment. The smoke in the air was getting thicker, and just the little bit of time we’d spent outside was already making my throat start to burn a little. I tied it bandit style so it covered my nose, then pulled it down and grabbed the second one.

  “Let’s get ready to head out,” Kaplan said as he walked into the room. “The streets seem to be pretty clear for now, so let’s get busy.” Amy was right behind him, rifle slung across her shoulder. I handed her the shemagh and showed her how to tie it. Kaplan and Hernandez covered their faces as well, and we headed out the door.

  The street was clear, so we hoofed it to the left and crouched by the thick hedge that ran along the side of the last house on our side of the street. An empty lot occupied the corner on both sides of the street, with big real estate signs facing the road. Across the four lane street ahead of us, I could see the tan building that proclaimed itself the Campbell Food Mart. A chest high fence ran around it, with a rolling gate across the driveway. Weeds grew up through the chain link fencing, but it looked like it had stood up to the zombie apocalypse well enough. Kaplan and Hernandez looked left and right for a couple of minutes before he shrugged and started across the lot toward the Food Mart. Kaplan didn’t even bother with trying to open the gate. He planted one hand on it and vaulted over while Hernandez pointed to the left and broke right so she could cover the street that ran beside the store. Taking my cue from her, I turned and looked to my left, covering the street. I heard the fence r
attle as Amy climbed over it, then Kaplan was calling my name. I holstered the SOCOM and hopped the fence using both hands to get me over it. Hernandez jumped the side fence and moved to the corner of the building as Kaplan kicked the glass door in. He gestured to me to follow him in and ducked under the bar on the door. I drew the pistol and stepped in behind him. Inside, the store smelled of spoiled milk, stale beer and blood. To our right was the checkout, with racks of cigarettes and hard liquor in cases behind the two cashier’s stations, and a clear display of lottery tickets taking up the counter space between them. Two narrow aisles took up most of the store to the left of the door, with a couple of shelves directly in front of the door and an office to the right. I brought the pistol up and clicked the tac light on.

  “You hear that?” Kaplan asked after a few seconds. A moment later, I heard a thump and the sound of bottles clanking together from the murky depths in front of me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sounds like it’s coming from back by the cooler.” From behind me I heard Kaplan’s boots on the linoleum as he came up beside me and pointed his flashlight down the narrow aisle. When we saw no movement there, we stepped over to the next aisle and pointed our lights down it. Both of us jumped when the glass door at the far end opened slightly and closed again with the clink of glass on glass again. A few seconds later it moved again, and we walked toward it. Another door bumped open, and I turned toward the cooler to try to see which one moved. The smell of beer got stronger as we got closer to the end of the aisle, and I caught movement behind the display cases in the cooler.

  “Do you see anything?” Kaplan asked. I leaned closer and reached out to pull the door open. As my hand closed on the handle a pale hand slammed into the glass from the other side. I barely had time to jump back as the display case fell through the glass door and knocked me to the ground. My pistol went flying as the display fell on my legs. All I could see in front of me was flashes of light as Kaplan’s MP5 barked. In the surreal strobing of gunfire, I could see a man crawling over the rack that had fallen on me, his teeth bared as he scrambled toward me. The smell of beer flooded my nostrils as I thrust my left hand forward and found my palm hitting flesh. The sound of teeth clacking together reached my ears as I groped for my Colt and found my right arm unable to bend far enough to get to the holster on that side. My fingertips grazed something else solid, though. I pulled my hand up, thankful for the heavy plastic vambraces as I felt the softer flesh of the zombie’s throat under my gloved hand. Praying my grip didn’t slip, I pulled the last ZT Spike from my belt and aimed for where I hoped the zombie’s head was. I felt the grate of metal on bone as the first blow hit, and I pulled my right arm back as I tilted my left hand up to hook my thumb and forefinger under the thing’s jaw. With the corner of its jaw as a reference, I stabbed with my right hand again, knowing that if I came up an inch short, I was likely to take my own thumb off. The blade sank in a couple of inches before it hit bone. I pushed hard against it until my fist rammed up against its head, and the zombie on me jerked once before it went still.

  Light hit me seconds later, and I heard Hernandez’s voice calling out.

  “Yeah, I’m good!” I called out.

  “Did you get it?” Kaplan asked as his flashlight beam bounced across the rack and the dead zombie.

  “No, I think it bled out,” I remarked sarcastically as I pulled my legs out from under the rack. Hernandez was beside me and pulled me to my feet. “Of course I got it.”

  “Aw, man, that is fuckin’ hard core,” she said as she played the light on her P90 on the zombie. Now that it wasn’t trying to tear my throat out, I could see the ZT Spike embedded in its left ear. Dressed in a dark t-shirt and jeans, all I could see of the zombie itself was dark hair and lacerated arms. “That’s two you ganked up close and personal. You don’t like guns or something?” I reached down and pulled the Spike free with a wet sound and wiped the blood off with its shirt before I sheathed it.

  “Too violent,” I said as I retrieved the SOCOM.

  “Looks like our boy had himself a little party,” Kaplan said as he pointed his light into the cooler. Empty beer bottles covered the floor, mostly clear forty ounce bargain brands.

  “I ought to be pissed but I think he did the world a favor by getting rid of so much cheap beer,” I said.

  “There’s nothing in there I’d drink,” Hernandez said.

  “Well, if you two connoisseurs are done rating the wine list,” Kaplan said drily, “let’s get as much of the food as we can and find a phone book and some maps if we can.”

  Kaplan and I grabbed a pair of plastic shopping baskets and started loading canned goods and anything else that was non-perishable off the half empty shelves, which ended up filling the four baskets we’d grabbed. Once we had the baskets as full as we could, we hit the back room. We had better luck there, coming up with a few mostly full boxes of canned and dry foods. Hernandez paused as she hefted the last can of coffee in the store, and for all we knew, in Missouri.

  “Kinda weird,” she said thoughtfully. “Yesterday, this was just a can of coffee. Today, it’s gold.”

  “And it’s a stove,” Kaplan said as he took the can from her and dropped it into the milk crate we had been filling. Between three adults and a teenager, I guessed we had found about ten days’ worth of food if we were careful. In the back of the store room, I found a case of bottled water on top of a blue ice chest. I set it on the floor and opened the ice chest, half afraid I’d find spoiled food or worse inside.

  “Well, somebody was prepared for the end of the world,” I said as I looked inside. I pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels Black Label.

  “Sweet,” Hernandez said from behind me.

  “We can use it for trade,” Kaplan said as he took the bottle out of my hand and replaced it in the ice chest.

  “Really?” I said with false innocence. “Because I thought it’d be really smart to get drunk off our asses and pass out tonight while we made a lot of noise.”

  Kaplan ignored the barb and closed the lid on the cooler. “Grab the water, Stewart. Hernandez, help me with the ice chest.” We double timed it back across the road, with Amy carrying two of the shopping baskets. Once we’d dropped off the first load, we made our way back as fast as we could. While Kaplan and Hernandez grabbed the last two baskets and the milk crates from the back, I made my way behind the counter to grab the phonebook.

  “Grab the last box on your way out,” Hernandez said from the door.

  “Got it. I’m going to grab the city map from the manager’s office, too.”

  “I’ll tell Lieutenant Tightass,” she said with a chuckle before she started across the parking lot. I headed for the manager’s office behind the cash registers and pulled the thumbtacks from the corners of the Kansas City map that was hung up behind the desk. Once I had it down, I laid it on the cluttered surface of the desk and worked to get it folded back up.

  “Dave!” Amy called out as I was slipping the map into one of the vest pockets. There was a sense of urgency in her voice and I heard engines, so I hustled for the door. When I stepped out into the light, I was greeted by a dozen men in black shirts pointing guns at me from the back of three pickup trucks. Amy had her rifle up, but none of them seemed to be taking the .22 seriously. Ten to one odds do tend to give a man a sense of invulnerability.

  “Lower your gun,” I told her as I raised my hands to show empty palms.

  “What?” she said. “Why? What are you doing?”

  “Xanatos speedchess,” I said softly. She glanced at me for a moment, then slowly brought the gun down.

  “We got orders ta shoot looters,” one of the men in the truck drawled.

  Journal of Maya Weiss

  Thursday, October 17, 2013

  I miss them. The only way I could even sleep last night was with Dave’s sweatshirt on and Amy’s bear in my arms. It was the only way I could keep from sleeping in the cab of the truck with the radio on. Between Lynch and the rest of the Marines, we didn
’t have to pull watches.

  Most of the other people with us and the Marines are crammed into a couple of Greyhound buses Lynch and his men brought back from Salina late last night. Seems like the bastard knew someone was going to try something stupid while he was gone. He didn’t seem surprised when I told him I’d shot Hodges. All he asked was “Did the sumbitch need shootin’?” Porsche answered that more enthusiastically than I could. Dave has a rule about guns. Actually he has several, but the gist of it is don’t point a gun at someone unless you’re ready to pull the trigger. It bothers me that I didn’t even think about it when I shot Hodges.

  The sky behind us was red this morning, and I could see the smoke from Kansas City on the horizon. God, it’s hard to keep the truck pointed west. But I promised Dave I’d get Cassie and Bryce to Nate’s.

  Chapter 5

  Quandaries

  ~ Safety is something that happens between your ears, not something you hold in your hands ~Jeff Cooper~

  “You shoulda seen the look on your face!” Mickey said between fits of laughter. The rest of the men around Amy and me were still laughing, and Mickey had tears running down his face from his own mirth. He towered over me, looking every inch the good ole boy in a black t-shirt with an American flag on the front. “God-damn! I thought that daughter of yours was gonna start shootin’!”