***
He sat in the passenger seat and caught his breath. The banging began on the hood and sides of the truck then and Will knew his break was over.
He climbed over the center console and settled into the driver’s seat. Still shaking, he managed to get the key into the ignition.
A crash came from his right as one of the Empties broke through the passenger side window.
Will cranked the truck and threw it in reverse. He heard a crash and then a pair of thuds, as he rocked from side to side, the back of the truck lifting slightly off the ground as it ran over a beast.
The growing horde walked in front of him, coming at the truck. He threw the column shifter into Drive, and punched the gas.
Two of them flipped over the hood on impact, putting a web-shaped crack in the windshield. With the passenger side window out, Will could hear the growls as he passed by the groups of them.
He zigged and zagged through the crowds, ignoring the herd as best he could, not wanting to do anymore damage to the truck. It was a heavy-duty extended cab and could take a decent beating, but he didn’t want to add too much damage before he even made it out of the industrial park.
As he got to the end of the row of buildings and was about to turn the corner to head down the long stretch that led to the main road, something caught his attention out of the corner of his left eye. He looked over and his mouth opened wide.
A young woman, around his age from what he could gather from the glance, was waving at him from the end of a loading dock. It was the first live face he had seen in days. And it was a pretty face; that much was easy to tell from where he sat.
He kept his eyes on her before he heard the cluster of snarls, and turned back to the road to see he was about to collide with a group of about ten. Will swerved; the corner of the truck caught one of them, and he heard the loud bang. The front left of the truck made a funny noise and the steering weakened.
Will had a flat tire.
The truck was slowing. He looked over his shoulder and saw the girl waving for him to come to her.
He turned the wheel all the way to the left and headed toward the building.
Will pulled up to the dock and the truck was quickly surrounded. A group of Empties had been loitering in front of the building when he pulled up, and they began to shake the truck back and forth, trying to get inside and rip him apart.
He looked up and saw the girl light an object in her hand and then throw it to a large, open spot in the parking lot.
The flare hit the ground and hissed, orange light shooting into the sky.
The group around the truck began to thin. The driver’s side door of the truck became escapable as they moved toward the flare.
At the loading dock, the girl widened her eyes and waved him to her more furiously, urging him to hurry up.
Will shook off his nerves, grabbed his bag, and opened the door.
He threw the bag into the building and put his hands up on the dock as she offered her hand to help him up.
Will took the petite hand and stood face to face with her.
She had brown hair with long, blonde streaks. Her blue eyes went right through him and reminded him of how thirsty he was from their ocean tint.
Still holding onto his hand, she shook it.
“I’m Holly,” she said, smiling at him. “Holly McNeil.”
Will smiled back, wondering if he was dreaming or actually standing in front of a real person.
“Good to meet you, Holly. I’m Will Kes…”
Will was out cold before he even hit the ground.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GABRIEL
Dead bodies lay sprawled across the lot, omitting a stench into the air that was almost unbearable. Their blood was most visible over the painted yellow lines that designated parking spots at the shopping center. Unfazed by the decay, the undead lurked among them, splashing blood off of the concrete as they limped.
Two different times, Gabriel nearly slipped on something. He wasn’t sure if it was blood or another substance from the human body, but somehow he kept his focus on the sporting goods store and on maneuvering a path around the loitering creatures.
The calculation he’d made near the trees of just how many of them were in the parking area was incorrect. He had estimated that there were twenty, but it was likely double that number. But he kept his focus, knowing that he needed to get to that store. That he had to if he wanted to have any chance of seeing his family again and getting the boy, Dylan, back to his.
Gabriel should have been more focused on the ground in front of him. When he looked back to see how far he had run, he kicked the ribcage of a torn body sprawled across the ground in front of him, and stumbled to the concrete. He caught himself with his wrists and felt the pain shoot up his forearm as he landed, falling onto his elbow, both his knees, and rolling over. For a moment, he lay there on the ground, grimacing and rolling around.
Behind him, he heard the howls of the beasts.
He made it to his feet just as one reached for him, grabbing his shoulders and lunging its decrepit teeth at him.
They both tumbled to the ground, bringing more burn into Gabriel’s wounds as the side of his left knee hit the ground and he slammed his elbow again. He extended his arms, trying to push the thing away from him. He looked into its bloodshot, lifeless eyes as its mouth opened and it drooled down onto his face. Gabriel turned his head and could see more coming. With adrenaline running through him, he forced the creature—in its previous life, a man of around thirty years old from what Gabriel could tell—over onto its back and punched its face, which didn’t phase it.
In a rage, he grabbed it by its hair and began slamming the skull into the concrete. It sprawled its arms through the air, trying to grab Gabriel—to stop him—but couldn’t. Gabriel slammed the head until the skull cracked, and the thing stopped moving. He tried to catch his breath, but there was no time. More were coming at him.
Gabriel got to his feet and hissed as he felt the burn in his knee. He looked down and saw that his pants were torn at the knee, which was covered in blood. Nothing was broken or torn; it was just a superficial wound, but it stung. He re-focused his eyes on his destination and began to run again, doing his best to put the burn in his knee out of his mind.
***
As he arrived at the sporting goods store, Gabriel turned around and saw that he had put a safe distance between himself and the undead. He reached for the door handle, taking a deep breath in hopes that it would open.
The door began to pull back, and Gabriel let out a sigh of relief.
Once inside, Gabriel turned and locked the door, leaning his back against the glass, and found himself sucking the dank air into his lungs. He looked to his right and saw a clearance rack knocked over, clothes and sports equipment sprawled on the floor. He noticed a baseball bat and kneeled over to grab it, taking the bat and pushing it through the two door handles at his back to give the door an additional barrier.
He turned and scanned the store for the first time. It looked liked a cold front had met a breath of warm air, creating a funnel in the middle of the store and tossing the product everywhere. Gabriel stood silent for a moment, listening for the hiss of any of the sick inside or, if there were any left, survivors.
Gabriel stood still until the bang on the glass behind him made him jump. He looked back and saw a group start to gather at the front door, groaning to get inside and tear him apart. The door was moving, but the aluminum bat seemed to be doing its part in keeping Gabriel safe. He turned again and began to walk down the middle aisle of the store, sidestepping fallen goods as he moved.
The front part of the store was filled with clothes. He looked down at his and smiled, thinking that an athletic look might have to be the trend for him in the new world. Gabriel flipped through a still standing rack of t-shirts and grabbed one that had “LIVE TO PLAY” screened across the chest. He removed his tattered dress shirt, tossed it to the ground, and pulle
d the large cotton tee over his head.
A rack nearby displayed various styles of athletic pants. He found his size and swapped his torn slacks out for a pair of them. He started to put his shoes back on until he looked to the back of the store, seeing the entire back wall lined with tennis shoes. He smiled and threw his dress shoes down.
After trying on a few styles, he picked the most comfortable pair. He would have taken two or three pairs of the ones he liked, but he didn’t see the point in carrying around a bunch of extra stuff. However, he did find it important to find a pair for the boy, as well as some extra clothes for each of them.
Nearby, a display stood against a wall holding an array of duffle bags and backpacks. Gabriel grabbed one of each, strapping the pack to his back and throwing the strap of the duffle bag over his shoulder.
He went back to the shoes and found a pair for Dylan that looked comfortable, and grabbed a couple of pairs in different sizes since he didn’t know the boy’s.
Then, Gabriel jogged back to the clothing section—the new shoes on his feet made running a breeze—and stuffed the backpack with an extra shirt and pants for himself, as well as some underwear and socks. He looked to his left and saw a collection of ski jackets on the ground. With the cold weather nearing, he needed one. He found his size, put on the coat, and zipped it up.
Gabriel hustled to the boys’ section and found similar clothes for Dylan, including a jacket, and stuffed them into the duffle bag.
The banging on the front door grew louder as the crowd widened. Gabriel thought of Dylan, hoping that the boy was still in the same spot, awaiting his return. He looked through the window and saw that the darkness almost enfolded the light, and knew he was running out of time.
Jumping over more fallen product, Gabriel ran for the hunting section of the store.
The banging at the door continued to resonate and the sun continued its quick decline.
***
Dylan sat where Gabriel had left him on a patch of dirt, just past where the grass parted for the roots of the tree which his back rested against. He shuffled through his bag, grabbing a pack of the peanuts he had found on the plane, and splitting open the package so that he could eat them. The salt hit his tongue, bringing on thirst, but they hadn’t found any water in the wreckage.
Bored, he pulled out his handheld video game, which somehow had survived the wreckage tucked deep into his bag. He powered it on, the small speakers sounding a jingle, and loaded his previous game.
As he sat there playing the game, engulfed in a make-believe war on a tiny screen, Dylan began to think of his parents. With no way to contact him, they had to be missing him. But what if they weren’t? What if they were glad he was gone? His parents fought a lot, and like so many children caught in the middle of domestic disputes, Dylan often blamed himself. He wondered if, with him gone now, the burden of his parents had vanished. Either way, he missed them dearly.
He reached into his bag again and pulled out a photograph. It stayed with him all the time.
It had been taken during a family vacation in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. They visited there often, as Dylan’s mother was originally from there. They’d go there every couple of years and rent a large beach house, staying for the week with his aunts, uncles, and cousins. This particular photograph featured Dylan, both his parents, and his older sister, Olivia. They stood at the end of a long pier which stretched out over the ocean. It was one of their favorite places to go when in Myrtle Beach, as it had an arcade for the kids to hang out in, before you got to the end of the pier where there was a bar for the adults to sit at, drinking and listening to live music. His favorite thing about the photo? They were happy. Both his parents were smiling, happy to be with their children, the exact way Dylan wanted to remember his mom and dad if he never saw them again.
A gust of wind blew by, and the picture sailed into the air, out of Dylan’s hand.
His mouth opened as wide as his eyes, and he quickly dropped his game and ran after the photo, just as another breeze passed through and sent the photograph even further.
Dylan had moved almost thirty yards away from the tree when he finally stepped on the photo, keeping it from flying further away.
“Gotcha!”
As he bent over to grab the photo, he heard a snarl. He looked up, and saw one of the monsters limping toward him.
As fast as he could, he ran with the photo in his hand back to his bag. He tucked the photograph into one of the bag’s secure side pockets, reached inside the main compartment, and pulled out the pilot’s handgun that Gabriel had left with him. Grabbing his bag but leaving his game on the ground, Dylan turned and ran toward the plane, just like Gabriel had instructed.
Dylan tripped over a rock only fifteen yards away from the tree. He clutched his knee, wincing from the pain.
He flipped over onto his back, and watched the beast coming closer. It was alone, but relentless. Using his elbows, Dylan backed up, sliding across the mix of grass and dirt, until he was against another tree.
Sweat dripped down his face and his lips trembled. The gun shook in his hand, and he fought to take off the safety and cock the hammer back, just like his father had taught him.
It clicked, and the pistol was drawn.
But the creature was already falling toward him.
***
When Gabriel arrived at the hunting area in the back right corner of the store, the rotten stench stung his nose immediately. He walked around a corner, headed down one of the aisles, and brought his hand over his mouth and nose. Bodies—five, maybe up to eight; it was hard to tell—lay sprawled across the blood stained tile. Some of the heads were still attached to their bodies and were either unrecognizable from the cannibalistic acts or had a gunshot wound in them.
Some weapons were missing from stock, but many of them still remained. Gabriel was surprised that the place hadn’t been completely looted. His best guess was that, whatever it was changing people into these limping and mindless beasts, it had affected enough of the people who were in the store that they’d simply overpowered the survivors—even with the barracks of rifles, shotguns, and pistols around them.
Gabriel walked to the glass counter. Rifles and shotguns lined the wall behind it and the case itself was filled with pistols, knives, and ammunition. As he approached the counter and looked over it, his eyes were quickly deferred in another direction. On the ground behind the register, a man wearing a red vest and a name tag lay dead, with a small family of rats picking away at his flesh. Gabriel turned and threw up all over the ground, landing knelt over and retching.
He gathered himself with a cough and a swipe at the mouth, and hopped over the counter. The rats squeaked and ran in different directions as Gabriel began to study the guns on the back wall. His eyes fell upon a black semi-automatic M4 assault rifle. He brought the gun off the wall and let the cold steel settle into his hands. He tossed the strap over his head and onto his shoulder, the gun meeting him at his hip. Next, he grabbed a pump action shotgun off the wall and threw it into the large duffle bag.
Gabriel turned and tried to open the case, but it was locked. For a moment, he thought about reaching down and trying to find keys on the decaying man before remembering the new world he was in. He smiled, then slammed the butt of the M4 through the case, busting it open and sending shards of glass onto the ground.
He grabbed two pistols, shoving one into the bag and mounting the other to his side, found the right ammunition for each weapon, and stuffed as much as he could into the two bags. As much as he’d hope Dylan wouldn’t have to kill anything or anyone, he realized it was probably inevitable, and a pistol would be a simple enough weapon for the boy to handle.
Taking the M4 into his hands and loading it, Gabriel was thankful that his brother-in-law, Jimmy, was a military veteran who liked to take him to the shooting range whenever they would visit him in Georgia. It was there that Gabriel, a city boy at heart, had learned how to load and fire an assault rifle with
some competence.
Gabriel started to turn away, but a large knife stared back at him from the bottom of the case. The handle looked as if his hand would wrap perfectly around it. He pulled the knife from the case, sliding it out of its sheath. As predicted, the blade felt perfect in his hand. It looked exactly like the knife that one of his movie heroes, John Rambo, would have used to butcher Vietnamese soldiers.
A crash came from the front of the store.
Time to go.
He threw the bags back on, much heavier now, and ran to the rear of the store to find an exit. A display caught his eye as he was about to enter the double doors leading into the warehouse. It was a free-standing display filled with Louisville Sluggers.
Gabriel smiled, grabbed one of the wooden bats, and ran through the back door just as the front of the store began to fill with limping bodies.
***
Like the rest of the building, the warehouse in the back of the store was void of any life. Gabriel raced to the emergency door at the back, guided only by a few florescent lights that hung from the ceiling. A large red bar stretched across the metal door, and Gabriel assumed that once he opened it, it would lock behind him and there would be no turning back. He pushed through the door, sounding off the alarm just as the first swarm of dead pushed through the double doors behind him and into the warehouse.
Gabriel gasped as he walked outside. The light above the door shined on three monsters in front of him. They snarled as he stepped into the light, sensing the warmth in his blood. Not wanting to waste ammunition from the assault rifle, Gabriel pulled the pistol from his side and began to fire at them. The first shot caught one of them in the shoulder, only slowing it down for a moment. The second shot connected, hitting it between the eyes and sending it down. He started to jog away from the other two, firing, and connecting with the cheek of one of them.
He heard the alarm inside thicken as the back door of the sporting goods store opened. As they spilled out of the door, the siren was overtaken by growls.
Empty Bodies: A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Dystopian Survival (Book 1) Page 8