by J. L. Bourne
Checking the toolbox on the rig, I found a thick yellow nylon tow strap. I wrapped it around my body several times like a mountain climber. I took what I needed from my pack and tossed it into the cab before I found my way onto the trailer. Not being a trucker, I had no idea how to disconnect the trailer from the cab. Wherever I’d be taking this rig, I’d be doing it with the trailer behind me, whether it be full of ammo, blue jeans, rotted produce, or empty. As I walked the length of the rectangle roof, the weight of my body caused the metal to buckle in places. This noise resonated down the trailer and into the store beyond. The semi was fully backed up into the loading bay doors; there would be no way inside without moving the truck and no way to move the truck without a charged battery.
I slowly climbed the slick drainage pipe leading to the roof and strained to negotiate the slight overhang before rolling onto the hot tar cover. I was getting old too fast. I lay there for a moment, catching my breath, before getting up to secure a way inside.
The surface of the roof was monotonous, like the moon, with skylights as convex craters spaced evenly in a grid. The milky white translucence of the skylight covers didn’t allow for a view into the store below. Using my fixed blade, I began to pry the nearest cover. After a few minutes of work, I was able to pop it off and get my first whiff of the rot contained inside the abyss below. With trepidation, I stuck my head and rifle into the hole and flipped on the powerful 500-lumen torch. Hanging my torso over the opening, the sweet smell of food rot met my nostrils along with a hint of human decomposition.
I wouldn’t be alone.
The skylight I’d chosen wasn’t ideal; it would put me down on the white tile between aisles—basically hot lava, according to the children’s game. Upside down, the blood rushed to my head while I looked in all directions for a better option. I counted two skylights over and one up, choosing a drop that would put me down on top of the shelves instead of on vulnerable ground level. I could see dark figures moving in the recesses beyond, but I didn’t shine my torch on them for fear of attracting company.
After removing the other skylight, I secured the towing strap to a pipe on the nearby air circulator. After tying a few knots in the yellow strap, I tossed it down into the darkness and watched it unravel and snap two feet from the top of what looked like cases of . . . bottled water.
Incredible.
I couldn’t believe that bottled water hadn’t been looted this long into the grid failing and the dead walking. I reached into my cargo pocket and pulled out one of the green chemlights. I snapped it and attached it to the strap near the skylight opening. I’d want an easy visual reference I could find with my NOD if need be.
I’d be going down into the well of souls with the bare minimum; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to climb back up the strap to the roof.
It was time.
I dangled my legs down into the dark opening and felt for one of the knots with my boots. Hand under hand, I let gravity do its thing until my feet felt the end of the strap. I’d been looking up into the sunlight the whole time and still did so even after I felt the cases of bottled water under my boots. Up there was safety and security; down here was something different.
The sound of something hitting the floor below pulled my eyes away from the bright opening.
I eased the NOD down over my eye. A two-liter soda bottle was spraying its contents all over a long-dead woman. I ignored it and stayed low, careful to maintain my balance on the cases of water. As I took the high ground, I began to understand why this valuable resource remained. The looters couldn’t reach these top shelves and fight off the undead at the same time.
The soda-soaked creature now shadowed me below. I was hesitant to take it out. Suppressed gunfire would only bring more of them. I edged myself to the other side of the shelf, out of the creature’s sphere of stimulation, and began looking for the signs spread out over the cavernous building. The place I needed was halfway across the store.
Automotive.
I walked low on top of the creaking water bottles to the end of the shelf. I could still hear the corpse on the opposite side, which was unaware that I’d moved farther away from it. Reaching the end of the shelf, I had no other choice but to break the hot lava game rules and step on the floor. I reluctantly slung my gun across my back and climbed down the shelf. As my boot touched the tile below, I was terrified by the fresh tracks in the dust all around me.
There were too many of them.
I kept to the darkness, avoiding the areas under the skylights, places the undead would see me and somehow realize in their primordial synapses that I wasn’t one of them. I stayed low, crouching below the racks of cheap clothing as I scurried toward the tall shelf full of tires about fifty yards ahead.
Rounding a rack full of clearance clothing, I was stopped in my tracks by one of them facing away from me. There was something unnerving about a human form that didn’t move, didn’t breathe, soulless. It was like being in a wax museum full of sculptures that would kill you on sight if given the opportunity.
I peeked up over the clothing displays, making sure that nothing else would hear my attack. I reached for the switchblade I kept on my belt and pulled it with a soft click of Kydex. I quietly approached the creature and positioned my thumb over the fire button. I pressed and the strong spring fired the razor-sharp blade out the front of the handle. The creature started to react, but it was too late. I rammed the five-inch tantō spike into the creature’s temple and put my arms around its torso from behind. Lowering the corpse to the cold floor, I could smell the sickening necrosis.
Staying low, I moved quickly to the next department.
Toys.
As I walked down the aisle I could see a single set of footprints in the dust. I looked back to the other side of the store, to where I’d dropped down. I could clearly see the chemlight dangling from the tow strap through my NOD; the device auto-gate kicked in, dimming the night vision to compensate for the skylight above me. Rain began to pour through the opening, down into the store. I moved to the next shadow between skylights and discovered the decayed remains of a large dog fused to the floor.
At least humans have a shot with our intelligence and our ability to reason. I hate it when I find a dead dog.
Automotive was two shelves away. I began to move to my objective when I heard the squeaking of shopping cart wheels nearby. I crouched low, clutching the aluminum rail of my M4 so tightly that I could feel the sharp edges dig into my hands. The squeak continued on the other side of the shelf. Slow, deliberate, and maddening. There was no other way to Automotive; I had to pass by the next aisle. I waited in anticipation for the squeaking to stop. A few seconds of silence would pass by, getting my hopes up, before the squeaking started up again. I circled the long way to the other side of the aisle and slowly stuck my head around the corner to see the source of the terrifying noise.
The corpse of an old woman dressed in a nightgown stood behind the cart, nudging it forward as she moved. Old blood covered the front of her dress all the way down to her knees; a pair of reading glasses hung around her neck on a lanyard. Most of the right side of her face was torn open. I couldn’t be certain, but I suspected that the large bag in her cart was dog food.
The aisle was shrouded in darkness, giving me no reason to think she could see me from this far away on the opposite side. I waited until the corpse looked down and then I bolted to the next aisle, right into the waiting arms of a goddamned stock boy.
We fell to the floor, grappling as we went. I held the creature’s cold, snakelike throat, keeping its snapping jaws at bay. As I strained to reach my knife, I could hear the squeak from the shopping cart approaching . . . now faster.
I bucked the stock boy off; its skull thumped the hard tile floor like a ripe melon, giving me time to pull my knife. I fired the spike just before jamming it into stock boy’s eye. I yanked the blade from the eye socket and darted behind the nearby service desk.
I waited in terror, holding my breath, listening to th
e shopping cart approach.
It stopped for a few eternal seconds and then moved again, louder and nearer.
I crouched, trembling, my back to the L-shaped service desk, as the cart squeaked closer and closer.
I felt a slight vibration as the cart bumped the counter from the other side. First the papers fell to the standing mat next to me, then a pen. I looked up to the lip of the counter but dared not prairie dog my head above it.
The ghastly face appeared suddenly above me, looking down on me from over the counter; it began to screech and flail for my flesh. My carbine was pointed up like a mortar tube when I pulled the trigger, sending the creature’s brains flying into the air and down all around me. The shot was thunderous, echoing in the aisles of the massive store. A chorus of undead responded to the intrusive noise. I heard clothing racks being knocked over and merchandise hitting the floor all over the place.
Fuck it. Sprinting, I was in Automotive in no time. I grabbed a nylon towrope, two red gas cans, and a length of hose. Using the rope, I secured the cans and hose together and slung them over my shoulder.
I made for the chemlight, but just as I was about to hit my stride, I noticed a corpse sprawled out in Sporting Goods with a rifle jammed in what used to be its mouth. A year of decomposition nearly flattened the remains, leaving an outline of clothing and skeletal limbs.
With the undead converging, I sprinted over to the corpse and found a brick of .22LR ammunition sitting open nearby. The .22 rifle was held securely in place by bony hands; I didn’t have time for it.
With the .22LR ammo now in my cargo pocket and slamming against my thigh, I ran as hard as I could for the chemlight.
The undead spilled out from all sides into my aisle. I let out a burst of gunfire that knocked many of them down and turned the dim lights out on the rest. They couldn’t see me as well as I could see them.
I was in the shadows, zigzagging through the darkness between skylights. My M4 bolt locked to the rear as I engaged a dozen corpses. With no time for a mag change, I threw my carbine over my head, letting the sling place it across my back alongside the gas cans as it dropped.
I drew my Glock.
The bright tritium glow from the night sights streaked across my NOD before the auto-gate stabilized the images. I took three ear-ringing shots at nearly point-blank range, dropping three of the undead to the white tile for keeps. Juking by two more, I was at my shelf.
As I began to climb, the aisle filled up from all directions. Within thirty seconds they were shoulder to shoulder, reaching up, shaking the shelf. I jumped from case to case until I reached the tow strap. Rain poured down from the opening above, trickling down the strap. I secured one end of the new rope to the tow strap and tied the other end to the supplies I’d just risked my life to acquire. I also secured a case of water to the rope’s extra slack.
Taking advantage of the adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, I ascended the knotted yellow lifeline, leaving the gear and water on the shelf below. I tried my best not to look down as I climbed into the light. Every inch I ascended, I thought about my toprope anchor. Would it hold?
I was sucking wind as I pulled myself over the lip of the skylight fitting and onto the roof. Drenched with sweat and rain, I began to heave the haul up from the darkness. It wasn’t long before the two gas cans, a length of black hose, and the case of water were on the roof with me. I downed three bottles before deciding on my next move.
Horde
Day 6
The rain was coming down in sheets as I tossed my haul from the roof onto the top of the semitrailer. It impacted with a thump, attracting the attention of a char-grilled corpse, blackened from some previous fire. Climbing down the pipe to the top of the trailer, I saw the blackened corpse begin to pound its fire-hardened limbs against the side of the truck. The miserable creature’s fingers were fused together, forming curved flippers. Its eyelids, lips, and ears were long gone; the thing stared up at me through the rain, unblinking and gnashing its jagged teeth together with a snap that I swear could be heard over the rain. My rifle was empty, so I pulled the storage compartment from the carbine grip that held three rounds, yanked the mag, and dropped one into the chamber before releasing the bolt and jamming the empty mag bag in. Leaning over the side of the trailer, I tried to aim at the corpse, but the rain was too heavy. I couldn’t see through the red dot optic. I lowered the gun as far as I could, firing the round with one hand about a foot from the charred skull. The round impacted its dome, splitting it open to the elements and sending it down into a puddle formed by weathered concrete. My bolt locked back on my rifle, prompting me to involuntarily release the empty mag and reach for another that wasn’t there.
With the rain falling like it was, I took my haul with me off the top of the truck and escaped by climbing into the cab of the truck I intended to bring back to life. The smell of the air freshener was welcome. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was sitting in my car a few years ago. I smelled the pine and listened to the rain be interrupted by bouts of thunder. The moment of Zen didn’t last long. The flash of lightning illuminated the adjacent field for a few seconds. Out there among nature’s rage was a horde of creatures sweeping across the landscape of hills and trees. In moments I would be overwhelmed, trapped. Hurriedly, I reached for a full mag from my pack and slapped it into my carbine, racking a round into the chamber. I checked my suppressor for tight fit and sprinted out into the relentless storm.
At the GARMR, I pulled my knife and sliced the zip ties that connected the GARMR’s solar saddlebags to the truck battery.
“Checkers, follow!” I yelled over the rain at the Simon watch.
I ran to the truck and the GARMR stood and began to trot in pursuit, dragging its red and black charging leads like entrails. The rain masked their smell. I had no time to fuck around; part of the main horde had now broken off in my direction. They didn’t yet see me, but that would change rapidly if I remained outside any longer.
I placed the battery under the cab and crawled under the trailer, leading the GARMR behind me before instructing it to stay. It went dormant as I was climbing up the running boards into the driver’s side of the truck.
They were at the fence. I dared not slam the door, closing it only enough to hear a click. I sat in the comfortable seat and watched the horde as the windows began to fog from my hyperventilated breathing.
Wiping the condensation from the glass with my sleeve, I watched the corpses march over the field, buckling the nearby chain-link fence when too many of them grouped together. The fence held and worked as sort of a guide, herding the mass east. I took the magnifier from my carbine to get a better look at them. All sorts marched together in hellish union. A sparse number of recently dead shambled along with corpses that likely had only a few nerve endings remaining from their decaying brains to their slogging legs. The massive, tireless group moved east.
It took three hours before the tail of the corpse army came into view. The mass became noticeably less dense and was populated by severely decomposed corpses missing most of their skin and tissue. Some walked on near stumps, getting stuck as their sharp bones sank deep into the rain-soaked soil. I felt no pity for them, not after losing so many, most likely my parents, my fellow officers, and Will.
The sun was low in the sky when the clouds finally broke. Birds flew by overhead as if nothing was amiss down here among the tsunami of walking corpses. The new ecosystem gave the birds an unfair Darwinian advantage. They could fly above the dead and sleep in trees. The natural enemy to their young crawled on the ground and slithered with the worms. The undead would eat snakes just as fast as they would any human. Who knows—perhaps one day they’ll take over as the new dominant species on the planet.
I pressed the window button, simultaneously realizing that there was no battery to power the truck’s systems. With night approaching soon, I again organized my kit and switched out the batteries on my NOD with a fresh set. I reloaded my empty magazine and drank my fill
of bottled water.
With the rain subsided along with the passing horde, I could hear faint sounds coming from inside the store. The angry dead still thrashed and searched wall to wall for me. The image of the corpse of the old lady looking down on me from the opposite side of the countertop was burned into my brain.
As the sun dipped below the hill, I exited the vehicle and moved the GARMR to a safer area next to a fire hydrant surrounded by four concrete pylons. I lugged the battery over to the GARMR and reattached it to the saddlebag solar panels. Protected by the darkness of a moonless night, I started the onerous task of siphoning diesel fuel five gallons at a time from the disabled semi to the one that I thought I could get running. After two hours, my mouth burned of diesel but the tank was full on my rig. The tank I’d been pulling from belonged to the semi with a flat front tire. I didn’t have an air compressor nor did I have the equipment required to change the tire of one of these behemoths, so I was forced, via NOD, to compare the visual condition of the trucks before I began sucking diesel. The tanks were cross-connected but I still alternated between filling the right and left tanks in case there might be a cross-link blockage. Afterward, I was completely exhausted and nauseous from the fumes and diesel blisters in my mouth. I knew that diesel was far less refined than ethanol-laced gas, so there was a shot that it was still good fuel.
With nothing more to do tonight, I decided to head for the truck’s sleeper and turn in. With any luck, I’d have this beast running by the afternoon. I was comforted by the fact that the truck cab sat high off the ground and that the windows were well out of reach of all but the most irradiated attacker. With the doors locked, I collapsed in the bed with my carbine across my chest, just like a scared child clutched his blanket while a monster lurked somewhere below.
Dawn
Day 7
I woke at daybreak in a panic. I’d slept so soundly that I’d forgotten where I was the night before, even without an empty bottle of scotch at my feet. It took a few seconds, but the previous day’s events began to play back at a blinding speed in my mind, catching my consciousness up to the bed I sat in, sweating. It was already warm and the humidity was soaring. My chest was covered in no-see-um bites and I was dehydrated. I downed two bottles of water and filled one up with fluorescent yellow piss and tossed it out the side window with a thunk. The only undead that remained were those nearly rotting corpses that were stuck in the mud in the adjacent field. Reaching under the seat, I pulled out a lead-filled wooden tire checker with a lanyard of olive-drab paracord routed through the handle.