“Good evening, sir,” the guard says.
“Evenin’,” Doyle replies.
The guard looks at me and then back at Doyle. “Uh, regulations are that civilians can’t be armed inside, and this entrance is for soldiers only.”
“It’s okay this time,” Doyle says. “He’s in training for the brigade, and under my protection.”
The guard hesitates then nods. “Yes, sir.”
We walk right through!
Dick’s looks like Mavmart looked when Charisse walked me through it: the entire interior is dimly lit, full of clothing racks and shelves and creepy mannequins, and no people around.
“We’re in?” I ask.
“What’s it look like?”
I can’t believe this. In my best dreams, I had to snipe at least 20 men to get inside, and then it was some kind of harrowing seek-and-destroy firefight. But in truth, just being human is enough to walk up to the door and get inside. Even without a badge, I could’ve probably just pretended to be a survivor and gone through some registration process.
“What’s that badge you showed him?”
Doyle shrugs. “I got it off a guard I killed. They all wear badges. I got one for you actually.” He fishes around in his cargo pockets. When he clips a badge onto my shirt, I flip it up to see M.U.R. printed at the top with a photo of a mustached, nearly bald guy who looks nothing like me, and the name Ronald McClusky. Beneath the name it says Level 2, and beneath that ‘Operations Specialist.’
“What the fuck is a Level 2 Operations Specialist?”
Doyle shrugs. “Who cares.”
“What if someone asks me to operate something and I don’t know how?” Some terrible scenario was definitely going to happen to me in here. “I’ll be like George Costanza in that episode with the whale. Is anyone here a marine biologist?”
I laugh at my own joke and Doyle glares at me. “Sam, you’re a fuckin’ idiot sometimes, you know that?”
“It’s a Seinfeld quote.”
Doyle grunts then says, “I don’t like Seinfeld. I like Friends.” He smirks then. “And you’re a fuckin’ Mimbo.”
“A what?”
“A male bimbo!” Doyle laughs at his stupid joke. “It’s from Seinfeld. My mom used to call my dad that all the time.”
“Oh,” I say, smiling. “Never saw that episode. I’m just saying--if someone wants us to play these characters we’re wearing, we don’t really know how. Except, I do kind of have a ton of experience role playing, so maybe it will come in handy for the first time in my life.”
“Roleplaying? Like you wear diapers and shit?”
“No. That’s not what role-playing is.”
I don’t feel like trying to explain it to Doyle. Instead, I check his card, and it’s a guy in a black uniform with a scraggly beard named Travis Tanner. Level 5 Priority Clearance.
We exit Dick’s (which is better than dicks exiting us) into a main corridor of Infinity Mall that is fully lit by the mall’s overhead lights.
After weeks of no electricity, this feels like some déjà vu experience of the mall before the collapse. It’s not like Mavmart or our fire station, where generators ran construction lights. That was apocalypse lighting, like you see in any TEOTWAWKI movie. This is actually the real mall lights, lighting this enormous space, looking like a regular slice of the olden days. My eyes catch on a mall directory with a clock above it that reads 11:22 PM Thursday, November 21.
I laugh when I see it. It’s been so long since I’ve thought about time or dates. How does anyone know what day or time it is…and why does anyone even care? There’s really only two seasons in Syracuse, and we’re about to enter the snowy one. My plan is pretty half-baked: get Charisse and head south like the geese, even if we have to walk!
A surprising number of people stroll along the mall tonight. Some are armed men sauntering and glaring at everyone like their cocks are either 2 inches or 12. But many are just couples, or women alone, and there’s even a couple children with their parents. People of all races too; a lot of black and Latin people, a fair number of Asians as well. Conversation is mostly subdued, but occasionally I hear laughter, or a loud talker. It feels so normal, but what really gets me was how nonsensical it was that we used to walk around shopping in stores like these all the time. And even more crazy is that all these people are still doing it!
I look for people I might know from Hasbro’s group, or Team Doyle, but I don’t recognize anyone.
“What the fuck is going on?” I ask. “It looks like a regular day at the mall.”
Doyle laughs. “This is regular nowadays. Except the stores are all closed.”
And he’s right: nearly every store is dark and has a gate blocking the entrance. Like the mall at night used to be, when only the bars and movie theaters were open and you just walked around with nothing to do, waiting for your movie to start.
Doyle stops soon after we get into the mall corridor.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got a bad feeling. We should hunker down and wait for morning. I been here during the day and there’s crowds of people. If we wander around this late, we’re bound to attract unwanted attention.”
Seems like a smart idea. “Where can we hide out, then?”
“Let’s go back to Dick’s. We can find you some clean clothes and then crash behind the clothing racks. You stink like a homeless man’s anus, and that alone could get us caught.”
I know I won’t be able to sleep at all, even if we find a memory foam bed, but it’s still a good idea.
We return to Dick’s and find the men’s clothing section. Sure enough, there are racks still stocked with clothing. Doyle collects underwear, black pants, a black T-shirt and black button down then hands them to me. “Go to the bathroom and wash your tits, pits, and ass. And put these on so you look more like a soldier in training.”
The sizable bathroom reminds me of a different moment in a public restroom, and I consider how close I am to Charisse. What a sight I am in the mirror, patchy beard growth, mangy knotted hair, dirt streaks on my face--I don’t even recognize this badass man staring back at me!
I strip naked. This bathroom has running water, which feels as amazing as the childhood memory of my mother’s hot cocoa. It’s cold but no shower ever felt so good as the sink bath I give myself now, scrubbing layers of funk off my body. I also gingerly open my chest bandages and blot at the agonizing fire ant hill living there, biting back a scream of agony every time the water or towels touch my wound.
I change into my new clean clothes, loving the way they feel. I decide to strap the concealed knife back on my calf, because better safe than sorry. Then I throw my old clothes in the trash can and head back out to find Doyle.
“I thought you fell in,” Doyle says, grinning from his perch at a nearby sales counter. “We can sleep over here.” He leads me to the winter coat section, and pushes aside some coats to reveal bedding pallets of piled together ski jackets. Then he climbs into his bed and pulls the coats back into place on the rack so they hide him from view.
I take a long look at the emptiness of the store, but there’s no one looking, so I duck behind the jackets next to Doyle.
I’m paranoid that cameras are watching us, or that someone will rewind the footage and recognize us. Or maybe someone will walk by and smell me, because obviously I couldn’t get rid of all the odors on my body. These clothes smell fresh, and my body smells like a guy who’d been chained to a bed for days with only a few bathroom breaks!
“This feels weird, right?” Doyle says. He’s already lying down, and I follow his lead.
“Uh huh.”
We’re quiet. I feel uneasy talking, wondering if guards are patrolling. Peering out above the hanging coats, I see the entire store seems still, frozen in some long ago past.
“Hey, Sam,” Doyle says.
“Yeah?” I sit back down on my makeshift cot.
“Do you remember back at the fire station, when you tried to escape the team?”
/>
His words stab me. I want to come clean about it, but I’m too ashamed, like Doyle won’t respect me or continue the mission if he knows.
“Doyle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that. I wasn’t sneaking off. I really had to use the bathroom.” He sits up so he can look at me. Barely any light gets in here, but the intensity of his stare makes me look away. “Quit giving me that look, Doyle. You’re just trying to voodoo me.”
“Just admit it, Sam. We all saw it. You don’t need to lie about it: men make mistakes sometimes.”
He’s giving me an out and I want to take it, but I can’t. “Doyle, you’re gonna believe what you want to believe. I wasn’t ditching the team--I wanted to free Charisse. I only ran away once everyone else got caught.” The lie sounds so believable that I actually start to believe it myself.
Doyle grunts. I can see him staring at me in my periphery a bit longer then he lays back down.
“Look, Sam, I just need your promise that you got my back if we get in trouble here. We need each other.”
“I promise I’ve got your back, Doyle.”
“You won’t sneak away again if I’m in trouble?”
“No, Doyle. I’ll back you up.”
And that’s the closest I come to admitting my cowardice from that night. I feel slightly little better but still wish I could tell him how terrified I’d been, and how nuts his plan had seemed.
Laying there behind the clothing rack, I beat myself up about Mavmart while my mind keeps hearing noises in the store and thinking someone’s coming for us. What would I really do? Would I really stay and die if we’re stuck fighting Mav’s army and I have the chance to escape? I don’t know the answer to that, but I respect Doyle and feel like he’s my friend. I hope I would have his back, anyway. But if it came down to Doyle or Charisse, I know I’d choose Charisse.
I doze a bit, but keep waking up paranoid from some noise in the mall or in my dreams. Each time, I sit up and peer between the clothes hangers. Nothing there, though. It isn’t zombies I’m afraid of, which feels so foreign. It’s the guards.
We get to morning without any incident. I can tell it’s morning by the sunlight gleaming across the store from one of the entrances. This might be the last day of my life.
I sit up to wake Doyle, but he’s gone.
Chapter 51: Then
Ma’Sheea couldn’t move fast at all, but we went back the way I came, through the construction yard. We had plenty of people to handle any zombies we saw, so nothing got close to us.
The problem was that every time we killed one, others nearby started heading our way. Gunshots are the pied piper for zombies, and Ma’Sheea was gimping along as slow as a crippled zombie, so the others kept gaining on us.
By the time we were in sight of the church, I could see dozens of them ahead, moving to block our way.
“We gotta go back!” Juan said.
“We can’t. They’re moving faster than us,” Ornell replied.
“What about that building? Can we make it there?”
“No,” I answered, stopping and loading both my pistols. “It’s too far. You guys huddle down in the dark and guard the girls.”
“The fuck?” Ezekiel said. “We’ll be sitting ducks!”
“I’m going to lead the mob away,” I said. “When it’s clear, get them inside that red garage door over there.” This was a stupid plan and I knew I was an idiot--but there was no choice!
The mob was spreading out as it left the street and entered the wide open construction field. I ran straight towards them, firing into the wall of bodies to attract their attention, and then veered off to my left at the last minute.
This was by far the most courageous moment of my life. I realized that if I went right, it would lure the horde of zombies to block the path of my friends. So I went left…straight toward the horde!
I wasn’t thinking it through much. I just knew that I had to run straight into the horde to keep everyone else safe.
As I approached the Geddes Street intersection, I realized this wasn’t going to work; there was no room for me. The horde was filling the intersection almost elbow to elbow.
I veered between two houses, paused to adjust my eyes and be sure nothing lurked in the alley, then turned and began unloading on the approaching horde behind me.
The alley turned my gunshots into a Metallica concert as shadowy zombies converged. I killed a few then dashed into the backyards.
One yard had a chain-linked fence around the back, but the other was open. The fence would be a great wall to keep them at bay, but I needed them to keep following me so Ma’Sheea had time to get in. So I headed into the wide open yard, saw a bunch of bodies shambling there and brought my gun up--until they materialized into a row of arborvitae!
I played zombie bait, stopping and shooting, then dashing ahead, repeating the stop and shoot. Looping back to Geddes Street, I saw the bulk of the horde congregating outside the front entrance of the church. I charged toward them again, firing a couple shots to get their attention, and waited for the tide to flow toward me.
I was careful, swift and alive, an animal dashing amidst predators as I fought like a guerilla. Keeping a careful eye ahead, I shot anything that moved, never backing up, nor stepping near a body on the ground. My eyes stayed alert for every slight movement, and when I needed to reload, I hopped on top of a pickup truck.
Loads of zombies headed toward me from the other direction on Geddes, so I veered onto an empty side street. Zombie psychology imitates herd animals--they preferred staying together in packs, not wandering alone. All it would take is one straggler in the dark to bring me down, though.
The horde filled the street, a terrible choir of doom moaning from their vacant faces. That awful sound overwhelmed me. I had no idea how I’d get back to the church, since I was heading in the opposite direction. I set my course to the southwest, hoping to make a gradual circle. It was Russian roulette: no matter how observant and careful I was, one small misstep would get me bit.
I didn’t think. Ma’Sheea and Seena were worth more than me, and I didn’t think about Ma’Sheea not surviving. My actions weren’t heroic: in one second, I decided to lead the horde away, and here I was. Being alive felt terrifying and electric and beautiful. If I died, it would suck, but I would die proud!
Instead of death, the horde stayed close as I dodged undead and made my way back to Erie Boulevard. But when I got there, instead of heading east and circling back around, there was an impassable mob blocking my way. I went west toward empty warehouses, where the street looked wide and lit and empty.
My ammo was low, and I was getting scared.
The horde following me converged on Erie with the other mob, and suddenly, it looked like five hundred zombies heading my way.
A quarter-mile ahead, a train bridge crossed the road, steep embankments on each side. It was a great escape; no one would be on the tracks, and the horde would have a hard time getting up there. I boogied toward it, the roar of a zombie army crashing like a tsunami behind me.
A bellowing engine entered my earshot, heading toward me from the distance. Like a Harley with ear-shredding pipes. I hated those motorcycles, and what kind of fucking idiot would drive one of those through the apocalypse? That’s like saying, “Hey, zombies, I’m a jerk on a motorcycle with no protection, come surround me!” The Harley dealership is right down Geddes, so I assumed some dick just stole the bike of his dreams.
Then a bizarre vehicle with nine headlights roared into view from the city like a demon blazing above the horde. It was no motorcycle after all, just some supped-up crazy loud truck! It came fast, plowing into the horde without slowing. The wet thuds of bodies hit the pavement as this truck cut a swath of death through the crowd, its exhaust ripping the air to shreds to summon every zombie in sight.
It turned out to be a raised pickup truck on a monster truck frame with tires nearly as tall as a man. It barreled toward me with its rack of blinding lights, so I couldn’t
see anything. I stepped to the side of the road, holding both hands up with my pistols in a show of surrender. Please don’t run me over!
The truck squealed to a halt in front of me.
A bearded man leaned out the window, grinning. “Wow, man, you’re about thirty seconds from becoming zombie chowder! There’s at least two-hundred headed your way.” The driver seemed to be having the time of his life, a beer in one hand and a smoke in the other. “So, need a ride or what, buddy?”
I immediately liked and trusted him. “That sounds great,” I replied.
“I’m Doyle. Hop in the back, brother.”
“Thanks!”
I wasn’t sure how to climb in the back since the tires reach my eye level. I saw other guys up in the pickup bed, and then noticed a boat ladder bolted to the bumper. As I heaved myself up, several hands helped me into the truck. There were three men, an assload of guns, and four cases of Bud Ice.
A clean-shaven guy in camouflage grinned at me. “Welcome aboard,” he said, while one of others handed me a beer. Why the hell is everyone drunk during the apocalypse?
Chapter 52: Now
“Doyle?” I whisper, peering out but seeing no sign of him. No answer.
I climb out from behind the clothing racks, my muscles as tight as they’d ever been. My back aches, my chest is tight, and all my joints have gotten very un-spry in the last few hours.
Doyle comes walking from behind a fixture across the men’s section, zipping up his fly. He grins. “Had to take a piss,” he calls noisily, making me cringe. “I peed on some khakis, in honor of Mav.”
I hold my fingers to my lips and make a shushing sound.
“Nobody’s in the store, except the door guards,” he says. “And I outrank them. Come on, let’s go shopping!” Another grin.
As we exit Dick’s, I notice the mall looks so much different than the mall I remember. “This is the new section they built a couple years ago,” I observe.
“Yup.”
“I’ve never been in it before.” I wonder at the architecture, which is almost like an amphitheater inside.
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