by Adam Sifre
"Get … off!" Annie shrieked. Timmy felt her yank him backward a good two feet, dragging the zombie along with him. The thing moaned, dirt spilling out of her mouth.
Making room, always room for Jell-O. Part of him knew he was hysterical. The rest of him wasn't thinking much of anything.
The zombie reached out with her other hand, trying to double down on her death grip. Timmy frantically kicked at it, tears of fear and pain streaking down his face. Annie pulled for all she was worth and Timmy felt something tear under his arms.
The two other zombies were next to the deck. They hadn't found the steps yet and seemed content to cheer the undead bitch on with growls, their hands reaching through the space underneath the built-in bench. Behind him, Annie started screaming.
"Leave him alone, bitch!" She redoubled her efforts and with one great pull, dragged him halfway inside.
Timmy felt his ankle pull free and screamed in triumph. Then he saw his ankle. Three deep scratch marks gave testament to the zombie's tenacity. Blood was already welling up in two of the tracks. He felt himself being dragged the rest of the way inside, then she slammed the sliding glass door shut so hard he thought the whole thing might shatter.
The zombie clawed futilely at the glass. The other two zombies lost interest and started to shamble away, making random half circles in the yard.
Annie leaned against the wall, eyes closed, drenched in sweat. Her robe hung open and Timmy turned his head away in embarrassment, still crying.
"My ankle, my ankle," he moaned. He heard Annie hiss and turned to see her staring at his wound. It wasn't bad, but … "I don't want to be a zombie!" he cried.
Annie grabbed his face with her hands and turned his head until they were eye-to-eye. "Did she bite you? Timmy, did she bite you?"
"N-no. I don't think so. But …"
She pulled him up and fresh pain blossomed under his arms.
"Ow!" He knew there'd be big bruises on both sides of his chest.
She dragged him upstairs to the bathroom and ran a bath.
"The water's cold, but it will have to do," she murmured.
"I had a dream. I think it had something to do with Dad."
"Get in the tub. We have to wash the wounds now."
There was no soap in the bathroom, just a bottle of Head 'n Shoulders conditioner. Annie emptied half the bottle on Timmy's ankle and the other half in the tub.
"Am I going to be all right?"
Annie said the three words no child wants to hear from a parent.
"I don't know."
Fresh tears ran down Timmy's face. His ankle hurt, his sides felt like they were on fire and he thought he could feel himself changing already.
"As far as I know, they have to bite you to turn you. But that's just from the movies. I don't know what happens if they scratch you. You need antibiotics but we don't have any."
Annie took a shaky breath and for the first time Timmy noticed just how bad she looked. She looked … brittle. Her face was pale except for dark circles under her eyes and her hands were still shaking. She looked - like a junkie - worn out.
Annie saw him staring at her and gave him her best motherly smile.
"Listen, honey. I think you're going to be all right. But we need to treat the wound with antibiotics as soon as possible, just to be safe. Understand?" Timmy nodded. "I know you're not feeling well right now and the truth is I'm in a bad way myself. I don't think I can stand up for another five minutes, let alone go outside."
"Outside? Why do you have to go outside?"
Annie looked away from him. She's ashamed.
"We need drugs, honey. Just to make sure we are all better. I need you to go to the drugstore."
"Oh." The only place he wanted to go was bed, all thoughts of KABOOM cereal and other breakfast treats forgotten for the moment. "I guess I can go. There's a CVS just down the hill."
Annie smiled wanly.
"That's my good boy. I'll go make a list. It'll be okay."
Timmy smiled.
Happy Birthday to me.
Chapter 28
Run, Timmy, Run!
His ankle throbbing, Timmy peeked around the corner from the Church of the Resurrection - a name that took on a whole new meaning these days. He'd already done a quick nerve-jangling walk through the church, hoping to find supplies - maybe a medicine cabinet or first aid kit. It would have made things a lot simpler. But there was nothing other than old holy water and a few boxes of petrified donuts. It was also blessedly free of any resurrected.
So that left the CVS.
The sun hung low in the sky. He had planned on leaving early in the day but his backyard friends had stuck around and Annie wouldn't let him leave the house until they were gone. In the fading light he made out the main entrance to the CVS, about two hundred feet away. The lone zombie, doing a passable impersonation of a mannequin at a Stephen King Menswear outlet, made it a very long two hundred feet. It stood in the middle of the street, almost directly between Timmy and the store.
"You are one big fucker," Timmy whispered. A small jolt of guilty pleasure in using the 'F' word made him smile. "One big, fat fucker."
He'd memorized the list clutched in his hand. "Penicillin, Oxycontin, Codeine, Snickers, Valium, BATTERIES." The last he had written himself. Timmy was fresh out and his Nintendo DS made a lousy paperweight. His favorite video games used to be 'Left For Dead 4', 'Burn, Zombie, Burn' and 'City of the Dead'. Now his tastes ran more towards 'Pokémon Arena', and 'Mario Kart'.
He thought about turning back. Annie would understand. It was one thing to have him take his chances outside to get her the pills. She'd rather wait a day for her pills. She wouldn't want him risking his life with a zombie standing right there. Except some part of him knew she would. She'd never say it out loud. She'd say, "It's okay, honey," and give him a big hug. Probably make him lunch. But she would be disappointed in him. It would show itself in her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking. Then there was the issue of his ankle. Maybe he didn't need antibiotics. But maybe he did. So no, he wouldn't turn around. In the end, Timmy was an eleven-year-old boy and when it came down to risking death by zombie or disappointment by Mom, he'd take his chances with the zombie.
Besides, he was developing a knack for sizing up the undead, and this corpse scored pretty low on his threat meter. It looked like a big fat biker, but a little cleaner. Its considerable gut was partially covered by a grimy T-shirt - 'Ride me 'cause I ride a Harley'. A thick blond beard framed a face that was definitely not suitable for framing. Glassy eyes reflected the setting sun, giving them an eerie orange cast. Everything about the zombie promised lethargy. Sometimes promises were meant to be broken, though. You don't judge a book by its cover, he thought, and you definitely don't judge a zombie by its gut.
Still. He needed to get inside that CVS, and that meant either making a run for the front door or taking his chances by sneaking in through the back entrance. Not knowing what was waiting for him in the rear lot, Timmy decided to take his chances with the devil he knew.
Before he could lose his nerve he ran across the street and cut right, running down the sidewalk toward the entrance - and the zombie. His arms and chest, sore from the tug-o-war with Annie and the zombie, slowed him down, but he figured he was plenty fast enough to make it safely to the store. He was about a hundred feet away when the zombie turned, its vacant stare transforming into one of ravenous hunger. It started lurching toward him.
"Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit." The words flew past his lips on puffs of air. He had miscalculated. The zombie was too close to the entrance. He'd never outrun it. He stopped before a blue and red postal box, about twenty feet from CVS's revolving doors. The zombie shambled toward him.
"Fuck."
Timmy stayed behind the postal drop. It came up to just below his neck. There were a few penny fliers taped to the side facing Timmy - Two Free Piano lessons if you buy ten. He stood his ground, making sure the mail drop stayed between him and the dead bik
er. The sound of a distant gunshot registered in some part of his brain, but it meant nothing. Sporadic gunfire was more common than church bells these days, and he knew it had nothing to do with him or his friend here.
"Zombie, zombie go away, come on back another day," he whispered. And in his mind it whispered back: Zombie, zombie here to stay, yes indeedy.
He could see its eyes clearly now. They were light blue ice chips, no longer reflecting fire. One of its ears was missing. It looked like it had been chewed off. It came straight at him, and hit the mail box.
Timmy jumped back as the zombie made a grab for him over the mail box, its blackened hands coming close enough for him to smell a mixture of tobacco, shit, and something else that didn't bear thinking about.
It took another swipe at him, but Timmy was already beyond its reach.
"Come on ... Come on ..."
The zombie finally gave up trying to walk through the mailbox and started moving to the left, between the box and the side of the building. Timmy took a half-step to the right. At least he had the open street to his back. If the thing had moved to the right, he would have literally had his back to the wall.
It took another step to the left and Timmy took another to the right. They did a slow orbit around the mail box, looking like the world's most mismatched pair of wrestlers sizing each other up. Finally they had switched places, so that the zombie was in front of him, still separated by the postal drop, and the CVS entrance was behind him.
"Easy peasy." He turned, ran, and tripped over the uneven sidewalk. He didn't fall, but his left ankle buckled and the pain was so great that for the moment he forgot all about zombies and survival. He took another step toward the door and almost collapsed as a fresh wave of pain washed over him.
Timmy moaned.
The zombie moaned.
Timmy started hopping.
The zombie started lurching.
He was ten feet away from safety, but two feet away from death. He hopped faster, tears of pain blurring his vision. He wasn't going to make it. It was too close. It would reach for him or he'd fall again. But he wouldn't stay down. Here, at the corner of Broad Street and Woodland Drive, the dead never stayed down. Maybe never again.
"No, no, no, no ..."
He closed his eyes - an incredibly stupid thing to do - and hopped faster - an incredibly smart thing to do. He opened his eyes and there was the door. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the zombie still lurching toward him, but farther back. It's so slow. His luck was in, as his dad was fond of saying when something went right. Without sparing another glance toward Horrid Davidson, Timmy shot through the revolving door and inside the CVS.
That's when things got a little scary.
He quickly found the locking bolt at the top of the door, just barely within his reach. His luck was still in and the bolt hole was lined up with the bolt on the door. He pushed the bolt up and was rewarded with a satisfying click just before the zombie crashed against the glass. It held, and except for a funky gray smear where the undead head met the glass, it seemed fine. That was good. The zombie also seemed fine. That was bad.
He stood at the door, catching his breath and staring at the creature, forgetting for the moment about his errand. Aside from the thing on the deck, he had never been this close to one of them before. The zombie was just standing there now, looking and not looking at Timmy. As before, it seemed to be in standby mode. Its face was almost pressed against the glass. Part of its lower lip had been torn away and he could see a few broken teeth. And its beard was moving. Timmy's stomach did a little flop. There were maggots and worms in its beard.
"Fucking gross."
Speaking seemed to break the spell, and he remembered the reason he was here. He turned away from the zombie and gingerly took a half-hop into the store. There were no lights and only about a third of the store was visible in the washed-out daylight that spilled in from the entranceway. The rest was swallowed by gloom and darkness. But he'd been in enough CVS drug stores to more or less know where everything was.
The front counter was about twenty feet away, to his right. He stepped around an ATM machine that had fallen or been pushed to the ground. He could just make out not-so-crisp twenty-dollar bills scattered across the floor. Yippee. I'm rich.
Ignoring the paper he went straight to a refrigeration display next to the front counter, putting a little weight on the bad foot and receiving a sharp reminder that he still had a bad foot. Wincing, he hopped the rest of the way. He leaned against the refrigeration display and took a moment to catch his breath. Behind the glass door were bottles of Coke, Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper and - Yes. Orange Crush.
He slid the door open and grabbed a bottle. It was warm of course, and when he popped the top it practically exploded. Ignoring the foam he drained the bottle in six long gulps.
"I've got my spine, I've got my orange crush." Timmy loved that song. Dad would play it all the time in the car. He snagged another three bottles and made his way behind the counter. Large plastic CVS bags were strewn across the floor. He picked one up and filled it with two of the bottles. The third he opened. Running from the ravenous undead was thirsty business.
The racks against the wall were still in place and it looked like his luck was still in. Batteries, lots of batteries. He grabbed a bunch of AAs and AAAs and tossed them in the bag. After pausing a few seconds he grabbed some more. He'd seen a lot of zombie and post-apocalyptic movies - they used to be his favorite - and was pretty sure that batteries were going to be the Gold Standard in the new world.
The aisle in front of him disappeared in the darkness. Timmy knew the pharmacy was back there, even if he couldn't see it.
"Okay."
He walked slowly down the cluttered lane behind the counter, his bag of goodies softly bouncing against his leg. He ran his fingers along the display racks. Cameras, CDs, film, boom boxes, and ... there - flashlights. He grabbed two, throwing one in the sack. The other he left on the counter and walked back to the battery display to search for C batteries. As a soft sound of movement drifted out of the darkness, Timmy froze.
Did I hear that?
Silence answered. For a short eternity he stood perfectly still. He heard only the rasp of his own breathing, loud as a police siren. Thanks to the Orange Crush, he had to fight down the urge to burp. In the end he gave in and belched into his hands as quietly as he could. Quickly he opened the package of batteries in the flashlight and ... Do I turn it on? Right now he wanted light more than Paris Hilton wanted publicity, but did he dare turn it on? Light was a two-way street. Could zombies see in the dark? He didn't know and he definitely didn't want to find out.
The prescription counter was still on the other side of the CVS.
"Another long one hundred feet," he whispered to himself.
Moving as quietly as he could, Timmy made his way back to the counter where he had left the plastic bag.
I'm a ninja. A silent, deadly ninja. Cat paws in the dark. With all the caution of a Mormon in a strip club, Timmy unscrewed the back of the flashlight and gently slipped in the batteries, deciding to keep the flashlight off for the moment.
He started walking toward the prescription counter. From the corner of his eye he could just make out the rotting biker, still standing on the other side of the revolving door, face pressed up against the glass. Like a kid in a candy store. He doubted it could actually see him, but that didn't tone down the creep factor much.
Just grab the meds and run, he reasoned with himself. Nothing in here but us chickens.
As he walked through the gloom to the back of the store he could just make out the products along the shelves. Shampoos, toothbrushes, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss, chap stick. He took some of these and tossed them in the bag. Douches, tampons - he left those alone. He was about halfway down the aisle now. What little light there was didn't reach this far back and Timmy was alone in the dark - he hoped. He stopped and listened, alert for any noises. All was dead still.
&nb
sp; Repeating the silent prayer common to children all over the world - Please, just this once, just this once. Just let me be okay this once - he clicked on the flashlight. Light spilled across the aisle, seeming overly bright to his eyes. He shone it quickly down the aisle, judged the distance to the counter and turned it off.
"Green light," he whispered. He took another dozen silent hops. Stopped and listened. Nothing. "One, two, three. Red light!" He clicked the flashlight back on. The prescription counter was about ten feet away. A sign reading 'Pick Up' hung over it and he could also make out some of the shelves. He couldn't read the signs but knew they'd be alphabetical, like the ones in the library. He did his best to memorize the layout, then switched off the flashlight.
"Green light." Darkness swam back in. He made it all the way to the counter, feeling a little silly about being afraid of the dark AND being afraid of the light. The counter had one of those flip up sections, conveniently raised, and he strode right through. Easy peasy.
"One, two, three ... red light."
The flashlight clicked on, showing a surprisingly debris-free floor. There were drawers in front of each shelf, more or less filled with prescriptions. Timmy ignored these and shone the light on the top of the shelves. His luck was still in. The first sign said 'Asthma - Lipitor'.
Okey doke. Get the meds and get out of Dodge.
He'd walked to the shelves and started looking for the right pills. His mom had told him to grab what he could but to make sure he got the Amoxicillin, Codeine and Oxycontin. He'd get those, then just go stuff his bag with goodies from the filled prescription bins. If biker dude was still guarding the front, he'd take his chances with the rear exit. Not ideal, but once he was outside ...
Something moved, something behind him.
He tried to turn around but couldn't. He was scared stiff. Yes he was. The soft whispering sound, the soft sound of something dragging, floated out of the darkness. The flashlight - red light - fell to the floor. Something was moving. But it wasn't him. Timmy didn't think he'd ever be moving again.