"Fine. Grab her and we'll put her in with the rotten meat and melted ice cream."
Bruce pushed past Brenda. "I'm getting her feet. I'm not going anywhere near her head."
"Of course not. Some gentleman you are."
Bruce laughed harshly. "I never said I was. And since I haven't gotten a paycheck in weeks, I'm assuming I've been fired and I'm technically a looter. I'm done marking off food that I took from the shelf."
"We have to keep order," she said. "When we get rescued…"
Another laugh escaped his mouth. "We might be the only people alive, like the Charlton Heston movie."
"I'm sure the military is doing sweeps but haven't gotten to us yet. My daughter, Krystle, is stationed overseas, but she was scheduled to return soon."
"You think she'll burst in and rescue her mommy?" he said snidely.
They placed Diane in the freezer, moving the once-frozen pizza and Hot Pockets and bending her legs to get her in and close the door. Brenda stared at her through the glass. Diane had been her assistant manager for three years, and in that time they'd been close. They knew one another's secrets, their peaks and valleys in life. When you work with someone day in and day out, and rely on them to keep the store rolling, you get comfortable.
Now Brenda had technically buried her and their friendship. All that was left was her memories. And Bruce.
"Hungry? I'm going to eat some Lucky Charms. I guess I can toss my diet in the garbage, since we'll probably be dead in a day or two."
"That's not funny," Brenda said, not taking her eyes from her friend.
"Not meant to be funny, but it's true. Once the monsters realize we're in here they’ll crack this baby like a sardine can and suck us out."
"I'm ignoring you."
"That's not something a boss should say to an employee. I might tell Human Resources on you." Bruce grabbed a box of cereal off the shelf. "I guess this makes me the new assistant manager, right?"
* * * * *
She could see three of them milling about in the parking lot through the crack between the nailed shelves. Brenda wondered what they were thinking about, if anything.
"You've been standing there for three hours," Bruce said, finishing off another three-dollar paperback book and tossing it behind the counter.
"They don't make any sounds."
"So?" Bruce said and slowly opened the wrapper of a melted candy bar.
"In the movies they grunt and groan."
"They moan about brains," Bruce said. He stood and put his arms out, cocking his head to his shoulder. "Brrraaaiiinnnnssss," he moaned.
"Under the circumstance, that ain't funny." Brenda went back to staring out the crack. "No cars come back, neither. What if we were the last people alive?"
"I'm not procreating humanity with you."
Brenda didn't bother with an answer. If Bruce was the last man alive, and she was the last woman, the human race would end right here. Besides feeling too damn old to have another baby, it was physically impossible. She didn't know why she was letting Bruce get into her head, anyway.
She pulled herself from the door and went to the snack aisle, picking out a can of cashews.
"Make sure you add that to your store-use list that will never be seen by another living person." Bruce disappeared down the main aisle again, most likely going to raid the paperback spinner for another title.
Brenda went into her dark and stuffy office, lit two candles on her desk, and glanced out the tiny one-way mirror to make sure Bruce wasn't looking. Satisfied he wasn't, she dutifully added the nuts to her list of items she'd need to pay for once this was over.
"Once this is over," she whispered.
Bruce came into the break room, which adjoined the office. He was carrying two paperbacks and a small flashlight as well as a pack of batteries. "I'm stealing all these items. My eyes are too old for these damn candles."
Brenda wanted to close her door but it was already too stuffy. She watched as he added batteries to the flashlight, smiled, and propped his feet up on the break table and sat in a folding chair, opening the first book.
"Whatcha reading?" she asked, figuring to start a conversation with him. If she had to be stuck with just the two of them now she might as well be civil. And hope it rubbed off and he was nice.
"A romance book," he said and waved it at her. "I ran out of the non-fiction and the fantasy."
"So romance is the next choice?"
"I thought under the circumstance, reading a horror book or a thriller with people getting killed was in poor taste." Bruce leaned back. "Besides, I'll just skip to the sex parts."
Brenda was about to answer when she jumped out of her seat. "I never cleaned up the aisle."
Bruce snorted. "What if the District Manager came walking in here? He'd fire you."
"Not funny."
"Of course, at this point, if he came in, you'd have to jam a sharpened broom handle into his head as well."
* * * * *
Glass shattering woke her and Bruce up from their spot behind the counter.
"Get your broom handle," Bruce said and turned on the flashlight, hiding the beam in his hand.
Something slammed against the wooden shelves with a crack.
"Whatever it is, the door won't hold for long." Bruce hefted a hammer and went to the door, standing off to the side. He motioned for Brenda to join him.
She couldn't move. When the makeshift wall was hit again she shuddered, her knuckles white gripping the broom stick.
"I need you to come here and help me," he said.
Brenda was frozen.
The shelves, nailed together, cracked and separated. The frame of the doors was warped, the glass smashed on the floor, catching the first rays of the rising sun.
Brenda thought it looked so beautiful. She'd been trapped inside in the dark for so long and wanted to watch the sun rise and smell the grass outside, hear the birds singing.
The first zombie coming through the door was smashed in the face by Bruce, who took a step back and kicked it back out. "Help!"
Brenda turned her head slightly and smiled when the light bounced and shimmered on the floor, casting a rainbow of colors across the threshold.
Two more zombies attacked at once and Bruce managed to shove one to the ground but when he shattered its nose with the hammer the second zombie locked teeth into his shoulder. Bruce screamed, blood flying.
Brenda finally broke free of her trance, jamming the spear into the zombies face just above where he was biting Bruce. If Bruce died she'd be alone, as much as he annoyed her. She was afraid to be left alone.
Another zombie stepped over the threshold, glass crunching under its bare feet. It was a woman and Brenda recognized her as a regular customer who came in off the bus on Tuesday.
The broomstick made a sickening slurping noise as Brenda pulled it from the zombies face. As the newest threat took a step, Brenda drove the weapon with all her might into her former customer's left eye. The broomstick cracked.
"Help," Bruce said, trying in vain to stop his wound from gushing blood. "It bit me, I've been bitten. I'm going to die."
"You're not going to die," Brenda said, knowing her words weren't true. Bruce grimaced. His look told her he knew the truth as well.
"Lock yourself in the office and I'll stall them."
"I can't let you do that," she said.
"I only have a few minutes to live. We both know it. Let me help you."
Brenda laughed. "You, help someone else? You must be dying."
"It only took a zombie to bite me to realize what a life I've wasted. See you on the other side." Bruce winked. "If you're heading to Hell with me."
"I'll see you in Heaven, friend."
Brenda ran to the broom aisle, grabbed another two as well as some bleach and a new pack of paper towels. You always needed extra cleaning supplies.
She could see the undead shuffling in through the devastated door.
Brenda dropped off the supplies in
her office, ran back out and away from the door, clapping her hands as she went. "Over here, customers. We have a special today on iodine, for all those nasty bite wounds."
She smiled when she saw four of them shuffling at her. She easily dodged up and down aisles with a small hand basket, adding food, water and medical items to it.
There were at least a dozen of them in the store as she ran into the break room, closed the door and propped the chair against it.
Her office door was closed and her desk pushed in front. Through the small one-way window she could see at least twenty of them.
Brenda lit another candle and began adding her new items to the store-use list.
Morris Chambers
"Let's do this," Morris said to his best friend Daniel, shaking the shotgun for effect. "It's time to rock and roll."
Daniel, the bigger of the two by far, wheezed and put his mom's station wagon into park. "What does that really mean?"
Morris laughed. "It means we're about to hook up with some great shit, man."
"Got it." Daniel opened the door but then stopped. "Should I bring the shotgun?"
"Uh, yeah. Do you want to get eaten?"
"No, but you have yours. I haven't used mine yet, and to be honest I don't want to."
Morris loved the guy to death, but even he had limits. "You're starting to annoy me again." Morris got out and waited for his partner.
"What if everything goes back to normal? I don't want someone's death on my conscience. I have enough hovering around that part of my brain."
"This is the new world, Daniel. We are the new generation, the living generation. Don't you get it?" He pointed at the strip mall they'd parked in front of. "And inside that store is the reason we live, the reason we're not dead."
Daniel was sweating, which was common for him. He wiped his large brow and shook his head, the sweat flying from his shaggy hair.
"Stop. What are you, a dog?"
Daniel laughed like the big doofus he was. Morris didn't know why he was friends with the guy sometimes. He was so un-cool, his hygiene was a mess, and he dressed like such a dork. Morris was sure his friend had never kissed a girl. He hadn't either, but he was sure he'd come closer.
This was the fifth place within a hundred miles they'd been to. The plan was simple: get in, get the loot and get out. The drive back to Daniel's house was always the trickiest part because the farther they traveled the harder it was to get back safely.
The strip-mall was quiet as the sun dropped. There was a damaged liquor store, a pizza place and a couple of other stores that didn't mean anything to them. Other than the black Trans Am in the parking lot it was deserted.
The hobby store in front of them was the reason they'd come all this way. They were down to their last three gas cans of extra fuel, although Morris always laughed at Daniel when he used the hose to siphon gas and made those faces.
"Shotguns ready. We don't want another Hobby Masters scene, got it? Follow my lead," Morris said and approached the store. At the Hobby Masters store, they'd run right into the owner, who took shots at them with his gun. They'd just assumed these places had been ignored by common folk looking for food, water and gas. From that point, they made sure they were locked and loaded.
The front door had been smashed but it was easy to see the store hadn't been emptied. Morris knew the bulk of the looting was at gas stations, convenience stores, supermarkets and restaurants. The only time anyone bothered to raid a sports card or comic book store was for the cash register, not as if money meant much anymore.
The only thing that mattered was collecting, and with the end of the world upon them, they could both finally complete their collections.
"Comic books to the left, sports cards to the right," Morris said as he stepped over the threshold and shined his flashlight on the collectables. The inside hadn't been touched.
Morris was completely into comic books and usually ignored the sports cards, but Daniel collected cards thanks to his dad's love for them.
The first store they'd hit, right after the apocalypse began, was their local store. They'd cleaned it out thanks to Daniel having the station wagon when the word came down that things had changed. They simply walked into an abandoned store and began piling boxes of comic books and sports cards into the car without incident.
It was only when they got back to his apartment, unloaded their latest finds, and spread them on the small living room floor that Morris realized he hadn't taken the box with the Fantastic Four comics in it, which was his absolute favorite, followed by Iron Man, Spider-Man, Alpha Flight and Captain America. He wasn't too big on the Avengers and the Incredible Hulk was boring to him, although he did have issue number one-eighty with the first appearance of Wolverine.
He'd calmed down after the initial adrenaline rush of now owning all of these classics and completing his collection, and went to task finding the special boxes holding Marvel Comics.
The other thing Morris always did was to pull out the DC Comics and leave them on the tables for someone else - someone who appreciated Batman and Superman - to collect. He wasn't a fan. Make mine Marvel, he'd say.
Behind the counter, usually behind protection and running up the wall to the ceiling, were the great books, the early X-Men issues or that elusive Conan the Barbarian #1 that wasn't off-center. The fun was never knowing what you'd find when you walked in.
"Holy crap, look at the Mantle cards in this case," Daniel said in a hushed tone. "And they have a block of Pujols rookies. Pay-dirt."
"Whoopie," Morris said and went to look at the wall when the familiar logo of the Fantastic Four caught his eye. He needed exactly sixteen issues of the entire series, including the first eight issues. At the last stop they'd had a beautiful run of issues nine through twenty-six, all near-mint. Morris had a very good issue of Fantastic Four #6 but wanted to upgrade it to a better copy.
Morris blinked when he got closer to the issue and shone the flashlight on it. Twelve-cent cover price, the heroes battling the masked villain that would define them for decades to come, July of 1962… Morris knew the cover well. He even had it as a screen saver on his laptop, although he'd only read the issue in reprint.
"Fantastic Four #5… first appearance of Doctor Doom," Morris whispered. "Doctor Doom."
He took it lightly from its resting place and held it in trembling fingers. For pure value it paled in comparison to issue 1, but that didn't matter to Morris. While the first book went for upwards of one hundred thirty thousand dollars, this issue with Doctor Doom could be had in mint for a paltry twenty-five grand. Not that Morris ever had anything close to that amount or in his wildest dreams would ever think of holding a copy, let alone possessing it.
"Stupid idiots, putting it on the wall next to a thirty dollar Batman and a forty-five dollar Aquaman. Who ran this place, a child?"
"Are you going to help?" Daniel asked, pulling 5,000-count card boxes from the wall. "I'm ready to go."
"You're going to willy-nilly grab boxes instead of going through them?" Morris asked.
"Yep. The fun is going through them tonight."
"Whatever. We'll put your boxes in first, but then I need time to sort through the comics." Morris first put his newest prized possession onto the front seat of the car.
They began the worst part of the job: lugging heavy boxes to the station wagon, piling them in so they could maximize the room, and once they got home they'd have to take them all out and lug them up two flights to the apartment. It was still better than paying for them, though.
"You know what we need to do? We need to find out where one of the distribution centers for Marvel is, or one for Topps for my cards. Then we clean them out," Daniel said.
"That is a good idea." Morris slipped a box of cards gently into the back seat. "Better yet, instead of doing that and just getting this year's comic books, we find one of the huge sellers we used to buy from and wipe them out. Then this nickel and dime stuff will be over."
Of course, thi
s nickel and dime stuff had quickly doubled a lifetime of collecting and they would run out of room within a week at this rate.
Tired already, they went back inside for another round.
"We need to secure a warehouse, fill it with food and water, and then clean it up so we can put our collections in it. Something really big," Morris said. His goal, realistic or not, was to own at least one copy of every Marvel Comic there was.
"Did you hear that?" Daniel said.
"What?" Morris asked, fingers dancing through a box of comic books while he rested.
"A car."
They both ran to the front of the store in time to see the Trans Am's tail lights as it sped out of the parking lot.
"Shit, check the car," Morris said. He had the sinking feeling that he'd go to the car, throw open the door, and find his new copy of Fantastic Four #5, the first appearance of Doctor Doom, was lost to him forever. When he saw it still in its place on the seat he nearly wept.
"I wonder who that was?" Daniel asked.
"Well, unless the zombies suddenly learned how to drive, I think it was someone alive." Morris went back inside.
"Where were they hiding?"
"How should I know? Help me with these boxes here." Morris pulled some DC Comics from a box and added some Marvels from the next one.
"Maybe there are more people somewhere," Daniel said.
Morris put his hand on his shotgun close by. "Then we shoot them if they mess with us."
"I don't want to kill anyone."
"You think I do? I just want to finish and get back. My arms are killing me and it's too dark in here."
"I'm getting creeped out, too."
What a moron. "I didn't say I was creeped out, I just don't want to fall when I'm walking and ruin a box of comics."
Morris wasn't too concerned. So far the only living people they'd encountered were those looking for food and supplies in convenience stores. Morris had a fully stocked apartment thanks to his mom being a bit 'off' and being one of those insane extreme coupon nutcases. There was more food than they could ever eat, with an entire bedroom taken up with sorted cans of food, cases and cases of water and energy drinks, and enough boxes of Fruit Loops to kill you.
Still Dying: Select Scenes From Dying Days Page 7