by J. D. Demers
Right before I could pull the trigger though, the front of the zombie’s head exploded, followed by an echoing but muffled pop. The huge zombie dropped to his knees, then fell on his face.
A dark figure in black combat fatigues stood behind him. His face was painted dark and he was wearing a black floppy hat with a small flashlight duct taped to it. A large caliber rifle was slung on his shoulder. He pointing a pistol at me with a small can fixed to the front of the barrel.
He looked me up and down and then snorted irritably.
“You’re an idiot, kid.”
Chapter 8
Fish
April 3rd Afternoon
The sight on my gun was pointed at the man’s chest and for a second, I just stared at him in awe. I didn’t realize it at the time, but even if I had pulled the trigger, nothing would have happened. I never took the safety off of my rifle.
“You want to not point your weapon in my direction, kid.” He said it so matter-of-factly that I wasn’t sure if he was threatening me or giving me firearm safety training.
I slowly lowered it. A week had gone by since I had heard another human speak. It took a few moments for what he was saying to register.
“S-sorry about that,” I finally stammered. I was still in shock from seeing the zombie’s head explode. “I would have had it, you know,” I added, trying to sound confident.
“Yeah, and you would of brought a hundred of them down on the store.” He looked around. “I cleared this place two days ago. Why the fuck did you leave the gate open? Why did you bash the lock?” He was saying this as he lowered his gun and started walking in my direction. Boomer wasn’t happy with the way he was approaching me, and gave a teeth-baring growl.
“I didn’t bust the lock, man. And the glass on the door was shattered when I got here.” He was eyeing Boomer, and I think my tough little friend got frightened, because he backed up and hid behind me. “Are-are you a cop or something?” His outfit looked a little like what I thought the local SWAT team wore.
“No,” he said, taking his piercing eyes off of Boomer and bringing them back to me. He was only a few feet in front of me now, and I got a better look at him. He wasn’t that tall. I was six feet and easily stood five inches over him. But he was stocky and broad. Even with black camouflage paint on his face, I could tell he had an easy ten years on me. Something told me this guy was dangerous. He had a very cold and hollow stare to him.
“Are there others with you? I’m all by myself. Well, I mean, I have Boomer here. But I really haven’t seen anyone in almost two weeks.” I was talking fast, and I could tell by the look on his face that he was already irritated with me. I also conveniently left out that I had seen Sarah a week ago. I didn’t feel like telling that story.
He rolled his eyes, and glanced around the store.
“I’m alone, kid.” I could tell he wasn’t much for words. He was standing suspiciously, as if waiting for something unknown to happen.
I petted the back of Boomer’s neck. “I’m Christian. Christian Hunt.”
He eyed me for a second, and at first I didn’t think he was going to tell me his name.
“Fish.” He said after a few moments.
“Fish? Like in the water?” I asked.
“Fish, as in Fischer.” He said, glaring at me crossly.
“Right… Where are you holed up at?” I asked.
He looked around again and I started to understand why. He was worried. Not about zombies, but was trying to see if there was anyone else there to worry about. Maybe he thought there was a group of people with me and we were going to rob him.
“Why do you care?”
“Just asking, man,” I said, a little irritated myself. He wasn’t being that forthcoming or friendly. “Look, it’s just me. I’m alone and I’m tired of being alone. I was just asking because I have some supplies. If it’s just you, maybe we can make a team. You know, survive together.”
He chuckled. Seeing his stone face crack a smile actually made him look scarier.
“You mean, I keep you alive, and you do what? Cook for me? Do my laundry? Word of advice, kid, don’t go around telling people what you have.” He shook his head.
“Look man, I’m valuable,” I returned. “I was in the military. I was Army.”
Fish raised an eyebrow. “Really? What MOS?”
“Ninety-two Yankee.” I said, proudly. This guy must have known his stuff, because most civilians wouldn’t know what a MOS was. If you don’t know, it stands for Military Occupational Specialty, or rather, what your job was in the military.
“Supply?” he asked rhetorically, and chuckled again. “Great. A fucking pogue.” That struck a nerve with me. Not that he made me mad really, but that what he said was hurtful. I thought I was done hearing that when I left the military. No soldier likes that insult.
“Do I look like a pogue to you?” I retorted, and raised my arms to display my gear. “I’ve done pretty well for myself so far.”
“Sure kid,” he said, and turned around as if he no longer considered me a threat. I found that a little insulting too.
“I have,” I told him irritably. He turned back around, a hint of anger showed through his black stone mask.
“Really?” he said harshly as he pointed through the wall to where the outside gate to the fence was. “You leave your six wide open. You’re prancing around town with a mangy dog, and you were about to fire off a very loud weapon on a single Zulu.” He was almost eye to eye with me now. “You’re a fucking pogue, and a stupid one at that. I can’t believe you’ve made it this long.” I would like to note that his breath was pretty foul.
Boomer was growling, but at a safe distance behind me.
Again, I decided to stand my ground. By then, though, I realized Fish was probably a real tough son of a bitch. I knew that if I pushed too hard, he might leave, or kick my ass, or maybe even kill me. I had to be careful, but not seem weak at the same time.
“Okay, I screwed up with leaving the fence open, but Boomer is no ‘mangy dog’. He can sniff these things out. Hell, he warned me about the zombie before he even finished squeezing through the door. And I’ve taken out quite a few Zulus too,” I said, emphasizing the term he used for zombies. I tried to portray as much confidence as I could. Now, though, it almost makes me cringe at how stupid I must have sounded.
“Really? Hmm…,” he said mockingly. Fish looked around again. “Have you cleared the store? Made sure nothing else made its way in?”
“Well, I checked out the areas that have light. I wasn’t going to go back in the dark part. That’s crazy, you know?” I said. I actually thought that not clearing the back of the store was a smart idea. It almost makes me laugh now at how much of a pogue I really was.
Fish rolled his eyes as he strapped his handgun to his side in a strange belt type holster. I realized that the can on the end of the barrel was actually an oil filter.
He then walked over to one of the shelves and pulled out a heavy sledgehammer. The head of it was already matted with dried splotches of black blood. I guessed he had used it when he cleared this store a couple of days earlier. That was pretty smart. Leaving heavy zombie slaying equipment in a place you planned on coming back to, rather than carrying it around everywhere.
“Like I said, pogue.”
This time I rolled my eyes. I got the feeling nothing I said or did would be to this man’s satisfaction.
He turned on the flashlight that was taped to his hat, and then clicked another one on that was attached to his shoulder. He started to head into the darkness and stopped, and looked back at me.
“You coming, Supply?” he said sarcastically. “I’d rather have you near me than have you mistake me for a Zulu and shoot me in the back.” I wasn’t sure if I liked the nickname ‘Supply’.
I was actually happy he asked me to come, even though he was insulting me by doing so. I thought maybe the guy would trust me.
Boomer and I followed him into the shadows in the bac
k of the store. The smell was worse the farther we went. I started to see the genius of the flashlights. I always held mine, but Fish’s were hands free. One flashlight was always pointing in front of him from his shoulder and the other one on his hat pointed wherever he looked.
It started to occur to me how stupid I was being. How could I trust this guy? I was so excited to see another person that I forgot that the new world was probably unforgiving. But this guy didn’t give me any bad vibes. He was an asshole, but he didn’t seem to be evil.
We came across two corpses. Both of their heads had been smashed into mush. I then understood why he wielded the sledgehammer. Fish had figured out that you had to completely destroy the brain.
I put Dave down twice with gunshot wounds to the head but somehow he was able to recover the first time and would have probably gotten back up the second. It took me cutting off his head to ensure his body wouldn’t reanimate again. You would think that a sledgehammer would be messier, but trust me, a machete is worse. I told myself to grab a large and small hammer on my way out.
We made our rounds through the dark, and didn’t see any other zombies that made their way in. I also made sure to point out to him that Boomer didn’t give any signals that there were Zulus lurking about. Fish just sighed and said he would be impressed when the dog did give a sign.
After we were done checking the store out, we went our separate ways. I don’t think he trusted me at the time, but he didn’t seem too threatened by me. Of course, if I ran into me, I wouldn’t be too threatened either.
We rummaged through the merchandise. I wasn’t sure what he was after, but I finished my shopping list, including the two sledgehammers. We met back up at the side door we came in.
“Look Fish, I was serious about teaming up,” I told him as sincerely as possible. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. But I could tell that was going to be a hard sell.
He looked me up and down, and then looked at Boomer.
“I’m good on my own, kid,” he said, a little too harsh, then softened up a bit to my surprise. “Sorry. Look, I ran into a couple of guys two days ago that wanted nothing but my weapons and food. I’m not about to open my door up to anyone just yet.”
I understood, but I still didn’t want to let go just yet.
“Hey, I understand.” I grabbed a construction pencil and ripped a piece of cardboard off of a box. I wrote down my address and drew out directions. I also added something else.
“What’s this?” he asked as I handed it to him.
“Directions to my house. I know you don’t trust me, and that’s fine, but maybe you might need help, or get overrun wherever you’re at.” He hesitated, then snatched the cardboard out of my hand.
“And what’s this other address?” he asked, pointing at my hastily drawn map. I think he was trying to play it off like he didn’t care, but I could see him working out the directions in his head.
“That’s hopefully going to be my new home. The house is locked down tight, and it has solar panels. I’m hoping I can rig something up.” I remember being excited when I talked about the house, and he probably read the expression on my face because he gave me a curious glare, like he was looking at a child excited about a toy he wanted to buy.
He folded up the cardboard and put it in his cargo pocket. He then unfastened his pistol.
“You should look into getting some oil filters,” he said while checking to make sure his was still fastened to the tip of his barrel. “They’re good at close range and will last for a few hundred rounds.”
I thought Fish giving me advice was a good sign. I had already taken note on the oil filter, though I hadn’t a clue on how to attach it to the barrel.
Up until that point, I was a little worried he would double-cross me. Giving him directions to my house was dangerous. He could come by one day when I was out and steal all of my goods. Or worse, come by to take my stuff when I was home. I was hoping that he was a good man deep down inside.
Fish sort of reminded me of my father. My dad wasn’t nearly as mean, but he wouldn’t mix bones when telling me when I had messed up. That didn’t make my dad, or Fish in this case, a bad person, just blunt. Well, Fish was blunt and unforgiving.
Fish opened the door and stepped out while I secured everything to my cart. He turned around, and poked his head in for another second.
“Do yourself a favor, Supply,” he said, reverting back into his cold tone. “Put that shit in bags and carry them. They’re easier to drop and won’t make noise like that mobile dinner bell you’re loading up. You might be able to outrun the dead, but if a scab hears you, you’ll be in for a fight.” He was already out of view by the time he finished talking.
Scab? What the hell was a scab? I remember thinking to myself. I poked my head out to ask, but he had already left the fenced area and was rounding the corner.
With the exception of Boomer, I was alone again. Don’t get me wrong, he was great company. But just like Sarah, Fish was there, and then he was gone. Well, not exactly like Sarah. At least Fish wasn’t dead. But still, I quickly became depressed.
I had no idea what he meant by ‘scab’. I thought that maybe that was some of his own jargon referring to bandits or something. He said a couple of guys tried to rob him, and I thought that was the term he was using for them. He could have also meant zombies, though I doubted it because he referred to them as Zulus.
I decided to take his advice, and ran to get some bags. To my disappointment, the large sledgehammer was too big and bulky to fit into a bag. I did, however, find a way to strap it behind me. I just couldn’t jerk my head back because the top of the sledge was right behind the base of my skull.
Boomer and I stepped out into the garden area, and I saw his ears perk, and then go flat. Something was close to us, but I didn’t see anything in the immediate area. We moved to the gate, and I could see quite a few zombies under the cover of the overhang up and down the shopping center. All were too far away to even come close to me, though. More bodies were moving around the parking lot too, mostly next to bigger vehicles. They were probably enjoying the shade they provided.
We ran over to where my car was parked and I saw a single zombie lying on the front of my car. I thought that was weird. He was clawing at it, ripping the tips of his fingers up and leaving blackish wet streaks across the top of the hood. I thought he was attracted to the sound of my car when I drove up. But I didn’t comprehend why he would still be trying to attack it.
“Shit!” I said to myself. My keys were still in the car. The car was still on.
Believe it or not, I felt lucky. There could have easily been a hoard, but the Civic wasn’t known for being loud, and it probably just attracted the one zombie as it walked by. Even so, I was an idiot. It was a simple, stupid mistake. I was in such a rush and distracted myself with all the gear I was carrying that my dumbass missed the simplicity of turning my car off and putting the keys in my pocket. I would be lying if I said that was the first time I had done something so stupid. But the stakes were a little higher now than back when I would be running late for class and locking my keys in the car.
Boomer knew we had to get to the car too, because he wasn’t trying to stop me from going that direction. He was playing it safe, lowly growling at the zombie as we got closer. He pranced from side to side instead of charging, and that was a little reassuring. I had a fear of Boomer being more of a hindrance than help if I ever had to mingle up with the dead.
I thought about dropping my bags and using one of my guns to get it from a distance, but I really didn’t feel like missing the zombie and hitting my engine.
I was about ten or fifteen feet away when I stopped and dropped my bags. Reaching down, I pulled the small sledgehammer out and gripped it tightly. By this time, the zombie had noticed me, reared up and started moving my direction.
He was a black man when he was alive. You could easily tell at that time because their skin would dry up, making it ashy and ghost-like. His mouth
and shirt were stained with dried blood, but I didn’t see any bite marks on him. His flesh had started to decay, though. Patches of skin had rotted away as muscle and bone started to protrude. Half his fingers had been worn down to the bone, most likely from scratching at the hood of my car.
That was the first zombie Boomer and I had faced down together in hand to hand combat. I learned that having him there was a big asset. Don’t get me wrong, I was nervous as all hell. Going at it with Dave was a matter of survival, and even then, I barely made it out alive. And killing the one trapped underneath the hutch didn’t exactly take bravado. This was much different. I knew what I was doing. I was purposefully putting myself in harm’s way.
Boomer wasn’t loud, but he gave a few small barks and ran around me, which drew attention from the zombie. Instead of coming after me, he was attracted to the movement of Boomer.
I easily maneuvered to its side and bashed the back of its skull. The zombie crashed forward into the ground. It was still moving, but these things were slow and couldn’t recover that quickly. I drove it home again before he could start to get up, and his head cracked like a melon. He went into a familiar convulsive state, much like the zombie I killed when I found Boomer. Two more whacks from the hammer, and he quit moving all together.
I gathered my things and jumped into the car. I was happy to see it still had a quarter of a tank left.
I took one last look at the hardware store. Someone was on the roof, right above the garden area. They were far away, but I was sure it was a woman. She had long brown hair and, though it was hard to see, I was sure she was wearing camouflage on her face, or it was extremely dirty.
I did a U-turn and looked on the roof again. She was gone. A zombie would have probably just climbed over the edge of the building and fell to the ground, but this girl didn’t. She didn’t wobble back and forth like a zombie, either. She had just stood still and stared in my direction.
I almost turned around again to see if she needed help, but decided against it. It was already after four o’clock and dark clouds were starting to form to the west. The sky would be overcast in an hour, and I’d be damned if I’d be stuck outside the relative safety of my home when that happened.