Taking care not to create a 'silhouette' for some lucky, truck-driving redneck to shoot at, Jake continued towards the cafeteria. If he knew Kat, she was going for Jerry and Benjamin up on the second floor. He didn't know whether he felt worried for her or sorry for them. That would leave him with Penny. While Jake was quite certain anyone who'd managed to survive this long with zombies running around everywhere could take care of themselves, the simple fact he had surprise on his side should give him an edge. Penny and her companions knew he and Kat were around somewhere, but they didn't know they knew. That should allow Cho and himself to get the jump on their respective targets.
Listen to me, all tactical and shit. Jake mused as he crouched beside the cafeteria doorway. What the hell are we doing? We're not soldiers. Dammit, I never should've insisted we follow these people.
Realizing there was nothing to do but press on, Jake slo-o-owly eased around the doorjamb and into the cafeteria proper. The first thing he noticed was the smell. The eatery stank to high heaven and, considering the writer had been in close proximity with a crap-load of zombies in recent months, that was saying something. Few people knew the level of stench attached to a rotting corpse, let alone one that had been wearing pants full of its own shit for two or more months that was also normally coated in other people’s blood. The stomach-turning aroma was unique. Impressive didn't cover it. Neither did foul, disgusting, or ungodly. The only smell Jake could compare it to was the inside of a full port-a-john left in the summer sun all day, with a hundred pounds of expired pork smeared all over its interior for good measure. While the smell inside the cafeteria wasn't quite that bad, it surely ran a close second. When he passed the serving counter, Jake learned why. Beneath the glass where trays of what were once baked beans, mac n' cheese, mashed potatoes, and (maybe) hot dogs, but he just couldn't tell. The mold was just too thick. O'Connor squinted and gave his head a hearty shake. The smell was enough to make his eyes water, but he needed to remain focused. There was a trio of not-so-friendly people somewhere in the building, and he needed to deal with one of them sharpish.
Jake moved slowly through the half-light, his head swiveling from side-to-side, eyes never still to insure he took in the entire room. It wouldn't do him any good to 'tunnel' at this juncture. That could get him killed as easily as any zombie.
Tunneling, as it was referred to, meant someone became so focused on watching what was directly in front of them, they disregarded everything else. This was an extremely dangerous habit most soldiers were encouraged to break, usually by way of their Gunny, Master Chief, or Drill Instructors size eleven combat boot upside their gluteus maximus. Not being aware of your surroundings and not noticing a threat (like some terrorist asshole with an AK-47 come out of the crapper to your left), could not only get you killed, but some of your squad-mates too.
So Jake let his gaze rove slowly about the room as he crept along, avoiding scattered trays, utensils, and the occasional long-dry smears of what could only be blood. Try as he might, he just couldn't help but wonder what it had been like within the school when the dead rose just a few months prior. How many had died there? Had they attempted to fight or simply flee? Had any of the students survived? Had their families come in search of them and found only their slaughtered loved ones, or had they been consumed by the creatures too? He'd never know.
O'Connor had no illusions. Most of the world hadn't made it twenty-four hours during the initial outbreak. People hadn't believed, or even wanted to believe, it was possible for actual zombies to exist. Hell, Jake had only believed due to following a pair of police officers into a carrion house of a Quickie-Mart. He'd stood there open-mouthed as two officers of law and order had put down the creatures feasting on the store’s owner. They'd proven to him in no uncertain terms that, regardless of official statements (or lack thereof), the dead were rising.
One of them had been Karen Parker's father.
The cords in Jake's neck clenched when he thought of the young woman in the hands of the raiders who'd attacked Rae's junkyard hideaway. His group needed to find the raider’s base of operations post-haste, and come up with a way to get Karen back from them. If the way they'd abused Jake's best friend Allen and the blonde-haired EMT Maggie were any indication, time was most definitely not on their side. Luckily, when Jake's group had rescued Allen and Maggie, they'd managed to take one of the aggressor group captive. That had been nearly three days ago. A cold smile spread across the writer’s face at the thought of how Foster was surely dealing with the man.
George Foster had spent the first half of his life in the navy, shooting and looting, running and gunning, and basically killing Very Dangerous People for nearly thirty years. Upon retiring, George found he missed the action of covert operations and wetwork, so he took an assignment to run a secure cache/safe-house/jumping off point for 'undocumented operations against hostile infiltrating forces', as he termed them. Basically, the aging building supervisor had been a hit man who hunted terrorists, both home and abroad, for the United States Government. Foster had run with Green Berets, Rangers, even SEAL teams, and had been given only one mission: Put bad guys in the ground before they killed a bunch of innocent people, and do it without making waves or anyone becoming the wiser. George had been good at it too. So good, he'd stopped keeping track of his body count in the early '70s. Jake had no doubt Foster would be able to 'encourage' their captive to part with some helpful information.
Now, what condition the raider would be in afterwards...
Rounding the lunch counter's far end, Jake paused at the door which led to the kitchen proper, put his ear against it lightly, and listened. He didn't hear any movement. No shambling footsteps, no involuntary clacking together of dead teeth, nothing. He didn't hear the dark-haired Penny rooting around in the drawers or searching for them either. Had she even been there yet, or had she already scoured that end of the school and moved on? Maybe she was heading to meet up with Jerry and Benjamin at that very moment? He had to find out. Maybe, if he was cautious, Jake could overcome her without excessive noise. That would allow him to double back and provide Kat with some support as she stalked the pair above.
Readying his Hulk-sized semi-automatic, Jake pushed the door open a few inches. There was no response from within the kitchen, No gurgling moans and (more importantly) no rounds from Penny's Remington came from inside, so he gently opened the door just enough to slide through. It was dark in there, but not so much that Jake couldn't make out the industrial-grade ovens lining the far wall. He looked about, keeping his Hammer pistol extended to retain a sight picture, and saw nothing. No movement anywhere. There were a pair of freezers over to the right of the ovens and a door leading out on the far side of the room a few paces closer. Jake moved quickly to the door and quietly latched the deadbolt. He'd clear the freezers first (wouldn't do to have any stray zombies coming up behind him as he continued on after Penny), then move on to the next room.
Upon reaching the first freezer door, Jake put his ear to it and closed his eyes. There. Something in the freezer had quietly bumped into the wall. A pair of low moans, along with the soured blood all over the floor in front of the freezer entrance confirmed its occupants were no longer among the living. He picked up a meat thermometer from the nearby counter and quietly slid it into the latch. The creatures inside had been there for some time without opening the door, but Jake was damned if he'd rely on their lack of cognitive abilities. Who knew? Maybe one of them might accidentally bump the door plunger inside, it would pop open, and he'd end up with a few dozen really nasty, really painful, zombie-hickies. Right before he bled out. Then get up and tried to do the same to anyone he encountered. Like say, Kat. Pushing thoughts of giving Kat a hickie (among other things) out of his mind, Jake moved to the second freezer. Upon pressing his ear to the cool metal, Jake heard nothing. That didn't prove no one (and more importantly nothing) was inside, though. Considering the door for a moment, Jake decided checking wasn't worth the risk and retrieved a Zip-
tie from his vest. He passed its tip through the handle latch, inserted it back through the one-way hoop on the tie, and pulled it tight. That door wasn't opening from the inside now either.
Checking his surroundings again, Jake moved carefully past the racks of nonperishables towards the kitchen's rear entrance. All sorts of bulk goods still remained, which he assumed Penny and Co. hadn't mentioned to 'Her', whoever 'She' was. The fact the trio had been hording supplies from people they'd been surviving with for months however, in his opinion spoke volumes about their moral character. Jake inspected a few of the shelves as he passed. Peas, green beans, yams, fruit cocktail, chicken stock, kidney beans, stewed tomatoes, pudding...
Christ. Who'd want to eat 112 ounces of chocolate pudding? Jake shuddered briefly at the thought and crept onward.
When he reached the door, it was 'rinse and repeat'. That was the admittedly politically incorrect phrase Foster had used to impress upon the women to always listen at a door when they were sneaking-and-peaking, prior to entering. There had been some unamused looks thrown his way at that one. Along with a few rather colorful insults about his advancing years, and a pair of middle fingers on Laurel's part. She'd professed that living with Kat the Ninja had made her sneakier than he'd ever hope to be.
George had nodded and smiled amicably, then told her to run twenty laps around the interior of their motor pool. Jake's red-haired lover had obeyed, cursing George all the while. Laurel had forgotten the first rule of basic training, that being: Do Not Lip-off To Your Instructor Or You Will Pay.
Jake had won his battle against breaking into laughter while this went on, but just barely. It had been a near thing. In his defense, he had been a bit distracted just then. Laurel running in a pair of fatigue bottoms and a sports bra would do that to him.
His redhead had one hell of a really nice bosom.
Thoughts of Laurel's more attractive attributes fled as Jake moved stealthily through the door with Hammer repeater leading.
Suddenly, a cold, hard piece of metal was pressed against his skull, just behind his left ear.
“Move and die.”
The Penny woman had been waiting silently to the left of the entrance. When Jake opened the door it had swung out, providing her with some handy concealment, and allowed her to come up behind him as he'd moved through into the hallway. She had the muzzle of a Police issue, Beretta 92fs pressed against the back of his head and her finger was definitely on the trigger.
“Uh. Hi?” Jake was at a loss.
The Beretta nudged his head. “Put the gun down.”
“That, um, requires me moving, wouldn't it?” he asked. “That seems like a bad plan just now.”
The dark-haired woman considered that for a moment. “Fine. Turn it around then pass it back to me, grip first. You try anything, and I'll show your brains some sunlight.”
“Okey-dokey.” Jake did as she instructed and gave over the Hammer.
“Move to face the wall and put your hands behind your back,” she told him.
Jake complied and felt a pair of handcuffs squeeze tightly around his wrists. Penny took a grip on his vest, turned him around, and gave him the once over.
“Where's your friend?” she asked. “The blue-haired chick.”
Jake decided to play dumb. “I'm alone.”
Penny popped him in the mouth with a quick jab.
“Don't play dumb,” she told him. “We saw the pair of you coming up the road. She's here somewhere. What'd you do, split up Plan to take us out individually?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Blood from his split lip oozed down Jake's chin as he shook his head in an attempt to order his thoughts again. Penny might have been attractive, but she had a hell of a left hand. Jake was lucky she'd hit him with the fist not currently holding a weapon. He'd have to be very careful about what he said. “I saw you guys come in here and thought I'd feel you out. I haven't seen another living person for almost a month now. Just those things.”
His answer earned him an amused smirk from Penny. “Right. You must think I'm stupid or something.”
Jake shrugged. “Well, I did see the truck you drive.”
Penny rolled her eyes and laughed, causing her face to appear even more appealing. “You're wearing Blackhawk tactical gear, Bates vibram-soled boots, and from the way you move you've had some training.”
“I played a lot of paintball before the whole zombie thing,” Jake said.
“And then there's this thing.” She held up his Hammer repeater. “What the hell kind of gun is this?”
“I picked it up at a flea-market,” O'Connor replied.
“Uh-huh. No dice, fella'. This is quality craftsmanship right here. No home firearm enthusiast could produce something like this, no matter how many reloads they made on the weekends. This puppy took skill.” Penny turned the Hammer over, inspected it briefly, and then shoved the hulking weapon into the waistband of her shorts. “I'll just hold onto it for a while. Start walking.”
Taking him by the back of his tactical harness, Penny steered Jake back though the doorway and into the kitchen. She wasn't quiet about it either. The sounds of their hurried footfalls set the dead inside the first freezer Jake had secured banging on the walls. That caused his dark-haired captor to smile at the door.
“Go ahead and keep bitching, you dumb shits. You'll never get your teeth into me. You five are gonna rot in there.” Penny kept them moving towards the cafeteria. “Shouldn't have tried to oust Rebecca. That's what you get.”
“Who's Rebecca?” Jake continued into the eatery.
Penny slapped him across the back of his head. “You just keep moving. And shut up. You're the moron in handcuffs here.”
Jake frowned. “Just asking. Jeez.”
“You want another shot in the mouth?” Penny demanded as they crossed the cafeteria and entered the hallway beyond.
Jake shook his head and sighed. “You were a cop before all this, weren't you?”
“Now just how the fuck would you know that?” Penny demanded, roughly jerking him to a halt in front of the high school's trophy case.
“Careful observation,” he replied glumly, “And the fact you act like an over-aggressive bitch when someone's cuffed and can't fight back. That's pretty much trademark Bad Cop behavior. You might as well be wearing a cheap suit and smoking off-brand cigarettes like every extra in a low-budget gangster move. Ever.”
For a moment, Jake thought he'd pushed the woman too far. Penny shoved him back against the trophy case and put her Beretta against his throat.
“And you might want to curb that flapping tongue of yours before it gets you into even more trouble.” She did not look pleased with Jake's opinion of her personality.
Jake was unimpressed. “More trouble than being handcuffed by a lunatic in a wrecked building, while there are zombies everywhere? You're kidding right?”
“You think we don't understand what's happened? That we're just a bunch of small-town hillbillies looking for whatever we can get?” Penny asked.
He thought about that for a second. “Pretty much.”
“Thought so. You know exactly jack.” Penny smiled. “Let's go collect the boys and get you back to the homestead, 'pardner'.”
“Please do. The crap-tastic Western movie dialogue is killing me.”
Penny chuckled darkly and shoved Jake towards the second floor stairwell. “Keep going and stay quiet. There could always be a zombie or two in here. Where do you think the ones in the freezer came from?”
“Outstanding.” Jake started clomping noisily up to the second floor, making as much noise as he could on his way for two reasons. One, to alert Kat that something had gone wrong and he was in it up to his eyeballs again. Two, in the hopes Penny's pair of companions upstairs didn't have itchy trigger fingers. It would suck if they got spooked, jumped the gun, and riddled him with bullets.
Shit, Jake thought, now I'm the one using bad Western dialogue. So much for my degree in Journalism—58K, str
aight down the crapper. I should've been a dentist...
-Chapter Four-
Ben and Jerry hadn't seen hide nor hair of Kat, as it turned out.
Jake smiled at that fact as he rode in the back of Penny's eye-sore of a truck. For whatever reason, the ninja-girl hadn't relieved them of their heads while he'd played Twenty Questions with them in the lobby. During their brief questioning the writer stuck to his story that he was alone, which caused the walking Bad Hair Day named Benjamin to become a bit irritated. Terrible haircut aside, the mullet fan was adamant about Jake's blue-haired companion being “hotter than a new Caddy in the projects.” That prompted Jake to share an unamused look with Penny as Jerry laughed at his friend's poor joke.
Jake voicelessly mouthed, What an asshole and nodded at Benjamin behind his back.
She rolled her eyes, nodded, and gave Jake the silent reply of, You have no idea.
Neither did Kat make a last-minute appearance to free him as the trio had loaded O'Connor over the tailgate, none too gently thanks to the handcuffs biting into his wrists. He'd been a little worried at that point, right up until he noticed the small, plastic 'Hello Kitty' figurine in the bed next to an empty Monster Energy Drink can. Jake had palmed the one inch figurine unnoticed as he scooted up to put his back against the cab, and shoved it discreetly into his right rear pocket. While not the most comfortable place for it, the little Kitty let him know there was a Kat on their tail.
Jake and his captors rode for just over two miles through the empty streets, making their way to a grain storage facility next to a set of disused railroad tracks. Ben hopped out and opened the padlock on a chain securing the nearby access gate, then Penny drove them through as Jerry kept a watchful eye on Jake. There were at least ten, large concrete silos along with the main building, more than enough room for a group of survivors to safely remain indefinitely provided they could locate food, clean water, and other necessities. Some few corpses littered the ground around the fence, but there weren't any walking ones nearby.
Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) Page 8