“But...” Jana mumbled then turned and raised the rifle Bob had practically thrown at her, putting her cheek to the stock and centering the scope's crosshairs on Alex's forehead as the half dozen or so zombies fell upon her. She squeezed the trigger but nothing happened. There was a little metal tab in the trigger guard and her index finger moved it out of the way. The gun went off and Alex's head exploded like an overripe melon dropped from a great height.
The creatures hovered over the woman's corpse tearing into it with rotten yellowed teeth. A couple stared at their companions for a moment then started towards Jana. She backed away a couple steps then turned and hurried after Bob. There were so damn many of them. The corpses would not distract them for long...
The whole day so far seemed like a nightmare. Jana watched the big man ahead of her as they trudged through weeds almost up to her armpits. Thorns snagged her clothes and ripped at her bare arms. In retrospect jeans and a tank top were not the best thing to wear when fleeing for your life through such a mess. The thought that Bob would either leave her behind or shoot her kept the woman slogging on even though the overgrown field was also flooded filling her tennis shoes with mud.
There was a house or something ahead of them. It occurred to her that this lunatic had murdered Alex and he would probably do the same to her at some point, probably in the near future if she did not do something to him first. Her mind, jarred by the crash and confused by the events of the last hour or so, still tried to come up with some way to save herself. The undead behind and the maniac in front...quite the dilemma...
She could shoot Bob in the leg and leave him for the zombies. However he had a gun too and might shoot her before she could get away. Knocking him out and running away was not really an option as he was bigger and stronger than she was. His biceps were the size of her fucking head. There was going to be a chance to escape if she paid attention. Of course! Jana thought as they struggled and cursed their way into the slightly less overgrown back yard of what looked like an abandoned house. A little smile came to her face. She had a plan now.
The house seemed to have been abandoned way before the plague and the only car around was a rusted out old hulk that might have been new when Jana was in diapers. However the remains of a gravel driveway showed them where the blacktop was and since the original plan had been to get south before winter they headed south.
By mid afternoon they found a newer house with what looked like a barn off on their right. “Can we take a break please?” Jana asked, waving at the structures. She stopped and looked around then added “I think we lost them.”
Bob grudgingly agreed and they cut across the grass towards the house. There was an older but still functional looking pickup in between the barn and the house...and it did not look like anyone was home. Bob judged that they really did not need any supplies right now but they would need that fucking truck so after a quick search of the buildings he made a beeline for it.
Luckily people out here in the sticks were a trusting sort and the vehicle was unlocked and the owner had stashed a small toolkit under the truck's bench seat. About five minutes with a flathead screwdriver and he had the steering column ripped open and the truck's engine trying to turn over. Jana whooped joyfully when, on the third try, the vehicle roared to life.
Jana shot him in the crotch when he slid out of the cab of the truck and turned around. The powerful 7.62mm round exploded his genitals and shattered his pelvis reducing the two hundred and forty pound former Delta Force operator to a pile of mewling Jell-O on the dirt driveway, copious amounts of dark red blood oozing out from between the fingers he clasped over the wound. Jana took Alex's shotgun and Bob's rifle off of him and tossed them into the bed of the truck and in a flash she was driving off.
Bob drew his sidearm from the holster strapped to his leg and fired a couple half aimed shots at the rapidly disappearing vehicle. “Fu...fuckin' bitch...” he panted. On the verge of blacking out from shock and blood loss he barely noticed something moving near the barn. Terror snapped him back to full consciousness. Two somnambulists moaning and stumbling towards him...
Jana put the hammer down as she tore ass away from the house kicking up a ton of dust from under the old Chevy's tires. A bullet whined off the side of the truck as she sped away feeling like she had just won the fucking lottery. She now had a truck, a bunch of guns and ammunition and some food in addition to surviving a goddamn helicopter crash. On a whim she opened the glove box and could not believe her eyes. A pack of cigarettes and a blister pack of cheap lighters was inside. “Everything's comin' up Milhouse.” Jana muttered to herself as she thumbed open the pack and lit one of the stale as hell Marlboro Menthols. Yep...this was definitely one lucky fucking day...
One Long Shift
8 May 2011 13:22 Hours 302 Newark Road Mount Vernon, Ohio
The florescent lights gave the dingy tile and ancient, leaning metal shelves of the convenience store a jaundiced appearance. Years of a revolving door of teenage slackers had left the place in serious need of a renovation. If the Board of Health ever found out about the bathroom they would probably order the store sanitized with flamethrowers and the ashes soaked in bleach. The short Middle Eastern man behind the counter leafed through a copy of The Mount Vernon Register as he grumbled to himself under his breath.
Hamid almost did not want to come in to work today but since it counted as overtime he could not turn it down. The tall dark haired man smiled and was friendly as usual with the customers who came to fill up their tanks or get a cup of coffee...but there was a tension in the air that he had not felt since the days after the Twin Towers fell. He caught the suspicious glances, the hateful glares... It made him a little afraid.
However he needed the money. His sisters were living in a refugee camp in Lebanon and they relied on the scant few dollars he could send them to survive. He kept promising that eventually he was going to save enough money to get them plane tickets to the wonderful United States where even the poorest person lived a far better life than back home. If he had to work seventy hours a week at a crappy minimum wage job with no benefits then that was what he was going to do.
Things were starting to slow down as most people in the area were now back at work after their lunch break so Hamid walked out to the front of the store to indulge in the one luxury he allowed himself. He rolled a cigarette (rolling papers and tobacco was cheaper than factory made smokes) and lit up. And well...hand rolled cigarettes always reminded him of John Wayne and Gary Cooper, his favorite American movie stars growing up back home.
A car pulled up and Hamid could hear the radio through the open window. He scowled at what he heard. Another one of those windbags blaming whatever this new bug going around on immigrants. It was always either the generic 'immigrants' or a possible terrorist plot. And of course by 'terrorist' they really meant 'Muslim' which Hamid suspected played some part in him getting all the hard looks in the past couple weeks.
The driver of the car finished gassing up his car and started towards the store. This punk teenager glared at him then flipped him the bird and jumped back in his car shouting “Fuck you, Hajji! Go home!” out the vehicle's window as he squealed his tires and took off.
There was more bad news on the radio when he turned it on. First the riots in Florida. Now reports of arson in Pittsburgh... The alarm on the door beeped letting him know that somebody was coming into the store and he looked up. Two Ohio State Troopers stood in the doorway.
Something about the way the cops carried themselves made the hairs stand up on the back of Hamid's neck. The bigger of the two loped off to the coffee machine in the corner while the other stared at Hamid out of the corner of his eye and said something into the microphone clipped to the shoulder of his uniform. Hamid smiled nervously when the big cop walked up to the counter with a cup of coffee in one hand and a small bag of chips in the other.
“Afternoon, sir.” Hamid said good naturedly as he rang up the lawman's purchases “Is that all for you
today?” On a good day uniforms and guns made him nervous and this was not a good day. He had learned from an early age to be exceptionally wary of anyone in a uniform and doubly so if they were armed. His breath caught in his throat as the State Trooper seemed to try and stare holes in him.
“Nah, thanks.” With that the cop paid for his stuff and left.
Hamid tried to tell himself that he was just being paranoid. There was still that feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him maybe a little paranoia might be healthy. The way some of these jagoffs on TV were talking... He could not help but wonder how long it was going to be before it was back to the bad days. The day after 9/11 this little old lady, probably somebody's grandma or something, had spat in his face and vandals had thrown bricks through his mosque's windows the day after that.
Would he have to start looking over his shoulder again? Wondering if those guys walking up behind him were going to beat him up. He had trouble sleeping for weeks after seeing a news story where a gang of men had beaten an Indian store clerk into a coma after the attacks.
Hamid chewed his fingernails as he leaned against the counter. What had that cop said into his radio? Were they keeping an eye on him? Sure...likely enough as he 'fit the profile'. Single Middle Eastern Muslim living alone working a minimum wage job. Lots of money orders going to...fuck, was Lebanon on the United States' bad guy list anymore? Maybe. Who the fuck knows anymore. It seemed like they were changing that damn list about every other day.
He crossed the store and poured himself a cup of coffee. Hamid rolled his eyes and groaned aloud when he heard The Jim Maxwell Show start its second hour. “So it looks like the Chump in Chief hasn't done a damn thing to stop our friends in the Middle East and South America from coming over here and bringing their filthy diseases with them.” Jim Maxwell said from the black plastic box hiding under the counter “Get this! The Centers for Disease Control put out a new press release just ten minutes ago. There's been a new confirmed case of Meningitis in Massachusetts. That's right. You heard it here, folks. The radical Muslim extremists that our President has let infiltrate this country and now they're running amok throwing this bug all over the place.”
Hamid almost hit his knees right then and there and started praying to Allah. That fucking twat just made it sound like the government had come out and said that terrorists were spreading this Meningitis thing all over the Eastern Seaboard. Seeing as how the fucking inbred hicks around here could not tell an Indian from an Iraqi or a Sikh from a Muslim he doubted very fucking much that they would have caught the difference.
His mouth went dry as he fumbled his cell phone out of his pants pocket and dialed his boss's number. He groaned aloud when his call went to voice mail. “Hello, Mister Henderson.” Hamid said nervously as he ran a hand through his hair. “This is Hamid. I...I hate to do this but I need very much to go home. Please call me back as soon as you get this.”
He shut down the phone and put it back in his pocket. The alarm went off as another customer came in. A bald giant in a Hell's Angels tee shirt and faded jeans walked over to the counter glaring at the clerk as he approached. “Gimme a pack of Pall Malls.” the enormous biker growled as he dug out his wallet. The man's catcher's mitt sized hands dug out a twenty dollar bill as he waited for Hamid to find the right kind of cigarettes and ring him up.
Hamid leaned against the counter and sighed in relief when the biker accepted his change and stalked out. When would Mister Henderson fucking call him back? What the shit was going on? Part of him just wanted to lock up the store and go home. Surely Mister Henderson would understand. He did not want to end up like that poor man he saw on the news. If anything happened to him who would get his sisters out of that shitty fucking camp?
After a few moment's thought he went outside and rolled another cigarette. He stood there puffing nervously on the crooked cigarette as he watched the people driving by. Two young men, maybe in their early to mid twenties, stopped and stared when they noticed him. Hamid dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his heel when they started towards the store and nearly smacked himself in the forehead with the door he was in such a hurry to get inside.
The young men came inside just as Hamid got behind the counter. “Hello. How are you doing today?” he asked, hoping he did not sound as nervous as he felt. One of them stayed by the door while the other went up to the counter. Hamid backed away until he was standing against the cigarette display in case the kid wanted to reach out and grab him.
“Gimme a pack of smokes, Hajji.” the wiry man spat. The set of the man's jaw and look in his eye made Hamid very, very nervous. He really did not want to turn his back on the man to get him what he was asking for. “C'mon! Don't you speak fuckin' English?”
The other guy, a chubby little butterball in a Metallica tee shirt laughed at his friend's joke. “Nah, he probably don't Johnny.” the fatty announced with another chuckle. “Fuckin' raghead. Why don't you go the fuck home, raghead?”
“Yeah!” Johnny asked as he slammed his palms down on the counter. “Why don't you take your filthy disease bearin' ass back to the fuckin' desert ya stinkin' sand nigger?”
The alarm dinged and a fit man in his mid thirties walked in. Now Hamid started to get really freaked out. There was a gold globe and anchor of the United States Marine Corps on his red tee shirt and his ball cap proudly proclaimed 'Iraq War Veteran'. When the guy turned his head to look from the man at the counter to the fat guy a few feet from him Hamid noticed the Purple Heart pin on the side of the new arrival's cap.
Johnny turned his attention back to Hamid. “Well, what the fuck, Hajji?” the man demanded as he slammed a palm on the counter again. “Gimme my goddamn Marlboros!” Johnny slapped the counter again. “Let's go I ain't got all fuckin' day.”
“Alright, son.” the Marine growled from the back of the store. While Hamid had been distracted he had gone back to the cooler and grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew and a stick of beef jerky. “Pay for your stuff and get out.”
Johnny looked at the Marine in utter disbelief. “What?” the man asked as he furrowed his brow. “This fuckin' raghead's your enemy. How the fuck you gonna stand there and tell me to get out?”
“I fought for his rights same as I fought for your right to be a racist asshole bully.” the Marine growled. He set his Mountain Dew on the counter and stared holes in Johnny's head with his eyes. “So pay for your shit and leave. Right now.”
The two men glared at each other for a long couple seconds before Johnny finally lowered his gaze and backed off. “C'mon, Fred.” he muttered under his breath. “I don't wanna give this fuckin' raghead my money anyways.”
Hamid laughed nervously after the two punks had scampered out of the store with their tails between their legs. “Thank you. Thank you, sir.” Hamid said and offered the Marine his hand. “Thank you very much.” He motioned towards the man's soda and snacks “Please take. It's on me.”
“Hi, I'm Dave. What's your name?” the Marine said as he shook Hamid's hand. The poor guy looked like he was about to stroke out or shit himself or both. Dave frowned slightly as he pulled out his wallet. He did not want to get the guy in trouble for walking out with the soda or anything and besides he did not really do anything.
“I'm Hamid. Thank you, Dave.” Hamid said hurriedly then waving the man's attempt to pay for his stuff off. “No. Thank you, Dave. It's on me. Really.”
Dave lifted the brim of his cap with his thumb and smiled. “No, please. I can afford it I promise.” he said and pulled out a ten dollar bill. “It really wasn't anything. No trouble at all.”
“No, I insist my friend!” Hamid said now smiling himself. He reached under the counter and turned off the radio. “Please allow me to buy you a delicious soda.”
“No, it's alright Hamid.” Dave held up the money for the man to see. “Look. See? I can definitely afford your store's wonderful soda.”
The two of them went back and forth like this for a good twenty minutes before anothe
r customer came in forcing Hamid to accept Dave's money. The Marine stayed, chatting idly with the clerk until at last Hamid's replacement showed up. Hamid counted his drawer out and said goodbye to Renee on his way out the door.
“Have a good day, my friend.” Hamid said to Dave as both exited the store. He waved and smiled at the man who returned the gesture and climbed into a blue Ford pickup parked next to the store. Hamid could not help but feel a little better about everything after today as he waited for the bus. Maybe, just maybe, everything would sort itself out after all.
He stood on the curb patiently waiting for his bus and watching the traffic go by. There were a few men standing around waiting for the bus too, probably day laborers or something from the look of them. They wore stained jeans and grimy shirts looking like they were on their way home from a hard day on a construction site or the like. There was a big semi truck coming in the lane closest to the curb so Hamid took a step back to make sure he was well out of the way.
A hard shove sent him flying out into the street with a cry and the last thing Hamid saw was a blinding white light. He coughed sending a fine mist of blood into the air. He tried to move but it felt like every bone in his body was broken. Hamid gagged and choked, his chest hitching once...twice then stopped. He lost control of his bowels and bladder as his life left him.
A Nice Place to Raise a Family
14 May 2011 09:38 hours Acorn Market Galeton, Pennsylvania
“Thanks, Mavis.” Officer Dale Peterson said as the older woman put his turkey and swiss sandwich into a plastic bag and handed it to him with his change. He glanced at his watch then towards the cruiser parked outside. They had two hours left in a twelve hour shift and he couldn't wait to get home, take a fucking shower and get some sleep before Sherri, his wife got home from work.
Outbreak: Tales from the Quarantine Zone Page 3