The Undead Survivor Series | Book 1 | Guns, Rations, Rigs & The Undead

by Radke, K. E.

  He knew she probably couldn’t hear him. Stepping a few feet away from her he moved toward the next section eyeing the onions and potatoes. A hand clamped around his arm and pulled almost toppling the box over on his head.

  “He’s sexually harassing me!” the woman yelled planting her feet on the ground as he tried to pull his arm free. No one paid any attention to them. People were fighting everywhere, and over everything. The box was tipping and Lincoln knew he wouldn’t be able to catch it because of the weight. So he let it fall—right on top of the woman holding onto his arm. While some of the cans scattered across the floor he wasn’t worried about it because if someone did claim them, at least it won’t be the woman underneath his box.

  She howled in pain as Lincoln grinned darkly from above her, “If I take the box off of you, are you going to behave?”

  Two hands appeared on his box, they were attached to a girl with a bun on top of her head. Lincoln recognized the teenage girl from earlier along with another woman. They were following me, Lincoln thought narrowing his eyes. Lincoln kicked the girl’s fingers trying to claim his box and the kid shrieked in pain. Lincoln did a double take—it’s a boy—with a bun.

  Pulling the boy up roughly by his bun, Lincoln ignored the boy’s shouts of pain and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, “Does she belong to you?” Lincoln growled at the woman on the ground.

  “I’m a boy!” the kid yelled as Lincoln shoved him away into the arms of the other woman.

  “Not with a bun on top of your head,” Lincoln said smugly. “I’m going to right my box and your little girl is going to pick up everything that fell out and put it right back where it belongs or,” Lincoln pulled up his shirt a little to show off his Glock, “we’re going to go outside and these bullets are going to sexually harass you in ways you’ve never known.” Lifting his eyebrows in question the woman on the ground nodded, her face pale.

  Lincoln pulled the box off her and gestured to the kid to collect his items. Several things were commandeered while Lincoln was giving his speech. Once the last package was put inside the box Lincoln lifted it to his shoulder so one hand could be free to hover over his gun. All three women’s eyes lowered and Lincoln raised his eyebrows in question, “You being a pecker checker now?”

  Everyone’s eyes gazed up at Lincoln’s face as he slipped his smirk into a frown, amused by the embarrassed expressions. Patting the box roughly Lincoln threatened, “You follow me and try to steal my shit again—I’ll tear that bun right off her head.”

  “I’m a man!” the kid said again angrily.

  “I heard gender confusion is an issue nowadays,” Lincoln said in a casual voice. “I thought it was a rumor.”

  It was time to go. He was exhausted and tired and he didn’t know how long he’d be able to defend the heavy box. Luckily, Lincoln’s threat convinced his recent assailants he’s crazy enough to shoot them.

  Finding his way back to the door he originally entered from was going to take more energy than he had. The closest exit he observed was in the meat section, an opening where the butchers went to and fro. The box weighed heavily on his shoulder as he proceeded back into chaos.

  People eyed the box as he slipped through bodies and carts making a path of his own with numerous eyes following him through the crowd. He tried to move quickly—getting rammed on all sides—he was sure on purpose. The entry way was close, one foot and then the second were planted firmly in front of the swinging doors as he kicked backward meeting a solid wall. He tried again and the door barely budged.

  What the hell, he thought placing his foot against the door and pushing as hard as he could. There was something holding the doors closed, he quickly turned to see if he could peek through the windows but they’d been covered. Staring back at the mob in front of him he could see more people’s eyes wandering to the box he was carrying like a strobe light on his head.

  He needed to move or get the doors behind him opened. The problem was he didn’t know who was keeping it shut. If he finds a way in he could be trapped with worse than the crowd in front of him. He leaned back against the doors using his boots to anchor him to the floor. The weight of the box also shifted to the doors and again he felt a slight budge. Seconds later someone pushed back, the small progress Lincoln made was gone.

  Clenching his teeth he pushed against the doors only for someone to slam against them on the other side, clearly not willing to let him in.

  “You will let me in or I will tell all these people you are hiding food back there to keep for yourselves,” Lincoln paused adding savagely, “and I will watch them rip you apart.”

  Ten

  I f they were debating Lincoln couldn’t hear them. He scanned the throng of people and found their gaze glued to the box he was carrying. One man holding up a heavy box didn’t seem so threatening. The curiosity was palpable because everyone else had their supplies in view, whether it was being carried in plastic baskets, arms or pushed in carts. People were whispering in ears. A sudden drop in voices. He was standing in the alcove and the box was like a big sign saying ‘look at me’. In the corner of his eye he caught three men glancing back and forth to each other. One snuck a peek at him.

  Slowly lowering the box and hugging it to his chest he placed it on the ground and whistled to get everyone’s attention. The minute the box hit the floor people moved in slowly. Encroaching on his space and it took all of Lincoln’s resolve not to growl and threaten them over his supplies.

  “I want what’s in this backroom,” Lincoln announced pushing the box forward out of the way. People instantly shoved each other, grabbing everything they touched. Lincoln turned and started kicking at the swinging doors with his boots yelling, “I warned you!” The three men joined him, he signaled he was going to take a breather and jumped out of their way. The crowd was focused on what was beyond the butcher’s doors. The anticipation pulling them like gravity toward the curiosity Lincoln ignited.

  It gave him the distraction he needed to getaway. It also distracted everyone else from the supplies they had already foraged. People were leaning and moving several feet away from their carts or leaving one person to guard what they’d worked so hard to gather. Inspecting the crowd Lincoln found three carts side by side with the old lady who’d rammed him earlier as a guard.

  Her face was flushed and beads of sweat were pooling on her forehead. Both hands were clamped around two different carts with a foot stretched out touching the third. In front of her was the massive crowd building, waiting to see what was hiding behind the butcher’s doors. Lincoln frowned knowing he’d never get far enough, if the old lady doesn’t have some sort of weapon, she’ll still be able to call for help, and considering the amount of baskets she’s trying to guard, help won’t be too far behind.

  Someone elbowed him and a bun popped up hitting him in the side. It was attached to the skinny girl from earlier that tried to rob him. Lincoln hit the bun and it bobbed back but got the kid’s attention causing him to turn around.

  “You still need food?” Lincoln asked.

  “I’m not helping you ass hole,” the voice was deep.

  Lincoln gazed at him seriously trying to look offended but smirked. “I just can’t take you seriously with that bun on your head,” Lincoln hit the bun again.

  “It’s a man bun, and a lot of people have them.”

  “I don’t have time to talk you through your gender issues. You want food? Follow me or I’ll find someone else,” Lincoln twisted, finding a path between everyone. Listening to the positive shouts, they were getting close to opening those doors and Lincoln didn’t know how much time he had.

  Surprisingly the skinny kid followed him as he ran up and around the skeleton aisles to come up behind the old lady. Somewhere along the way the two women showed up from earlier and they all stopped behind Lincoln when he held out his arm.

  “Listen to me,” more positive yells before a loud crash and the crowd surged forward leaving a few people behind to guard carts. No plan
was needed. Lincoln dashed forward, the skinny kid out running him. Lincoln moved several carts out of the way finding a full one. Grabbing the handle he bulldozed his way backward grinning ear to ear as the old lady’s jaw fell open because he was headed straight for her. He pulled the cart around so it’d be in front of him as he ran full speed at her.

  The old woman dived out of his way not stupid enough to think he’d take pity on her. Rushing to a safe spot she was well out of Lincoln’s way as he swept by the carts she was guarding. He grabbed the handle of one and kept moving until he swung down an empty aisle and headed straight for the front of the store convinced someone was following him.

  Distinct voices rose above the deafening crowd noise as people quieted; a newfound focus caused everyone to be on alert.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” someone shouted in a tone mixed with anger and confusion. Lincoln could actually hear every word. He didn’t know how close they were but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

  “What the fuck happened in here?”

  “There’s blood everywhere.”

  “Jesus Christ is that a finger?”

  “What kind of shit are you trying to pull?”

  “Seth? Who did this to you? Carla?”

  “How is he still alive?”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

  Tones changed from furious and angry shouts to shrill and horrified screams that made a shiver run down Lincoln’s spine. He stopped abruptly, swiveling around once the odor permeated the area. The rancid smell of dead flesh causing bile to rise in his throat and his stomach to churn. Gut wrenching, bone chilling screams ripped across the store. Behind him, he caught sight of a bun, and the two women trailing behind him. The last one as pale as a ghost. The screaming amplified, and Lincoln’s feet backtracked.

  Pulling the carts with him, Lincoln raced back the way he came and tried not to think about what was unleashed when the crowd broke open the butcher’s doors. He didn’t want to wonder about this moment for the rest of his life, he needed to know if he’d just sent dozens of people to their death.

  Edging closer to the crowd, the people near the back were still trying to get inside the butcher room, but from Lincoln’s viewpoint he saw the people inside clawing their way out. At the front of the mob people slowly backtracked, listening to the shrieks of terror echoing out of the room they were desperately trying to get inside a few moments ago. Everyone changed directions and surged backward trying to escape the fate of petrified screams rattling their nerves. Alleviating space for people in the back to take their place.

  Carts were being abandoned and rammed out of the way in desperation to be free of the confining circle they’d made. As soon as a way to exit was made, it quickly closed pinching people between carts as they all struggled to clear a path of escape in different directions.

  Locking in a breath, Lincoln watched as the crowd dispersed. Jumping to and fro, squashing supplies underfoot as they all attempted to flee. Some crawled below the carts, trying to keep their finger from being crushed by the moving wheels.

  The butcher ambled forward and reached for people with his bloody fingers. His white apron stained with red liquid leaking out from the fourteen knives stuck in his gut. A hairnet covered the sparse horseshoe ring of hair around his scalp. Teeth tumbled out of his mouth, a knife had been inserted through his cheek piercing the other side. Every time he tried to snap his teeth at people the knife cut deeper into his lower jaw. Tissue and blood dribbled down his chin in a never ending, bubbling stream.

  Two people closest to the butcher were caught between carts as he approached them. The men were from the original group that helped Lincoln get the doors open. One climbed into a cart to escape with the other man on his trail, but he was shoved back straight into the butcher, pushing the knives deeper into his gut.

  The butcher’s jaw moved faster at the prospect of food causing the knife stuck in his cheeks to completely slice through his tongue. It tumbled over the man he caught for his next meal and plopped on the floor in a bloody puddle. Blood sprayed over the next victim drenching both of them.

  Lincoln fumbled with the strap on his holster trying to wrench the gun free and keep his eyes on the victim. In the butcher’s clutches, the second man screamed as teeth scraped along his skin. Desperately still trying to escape, the man pulled a knife from the butcher’s gut and stabbed him repeatedly.

  Anyone witnessing the act could clearly see the knife had no effect on the butcher. He kept trying to tear through flesh with the teeth he still had, but every bite he tried to make only drenched the victim in blood from the knife slicing deeper into his lower jaw.

  Four other employees appeared—what distracted them in the back—Lincoln didn’t want to think about it. One after another they stumbled out into the open ready to eat anyone in sight. There was one pulling itself around on the ground with its arms, one of his legs cut completely off at mid-thigh and the other bent in the wrong direction. He knew everyone’s name, except for the unrecognizable one that had its face completely peeled off, only a few stringy pieces of flesh hung under his chin.

  All of them had been stabbed several times with knives and a different assortment of tools butcher’s had to cut up meat. Carla had a meat hook through her chest causing her to lean to the left. Half of her right arm had been eaten to the bone. At the sight of the butcher hovering over a new entre they surged forward.

  Lincoln didn’t think about the consequences, he fired inside the grocery store taking out the former employees with head shots. He took out the butcher first, trying to save the current victim from being eaten alive. The man couldn’t have been badly injured because he’d run off by the time Lincoln had a chance to look for him.

  On the floor ghouls were piled on top of each other making the ground slick with blood. By the time Lincoln finished he checked his magazine for bullets and hoped he’d make it home before he needed to reload. Realizing how quiet it was, Lincoln gazed up and everyone in the vicinity silently stared at him.

  “Uh-they-uh can’t eat’cha now. Head shots put them down,” Lincoln explained clearing his throat. Something squeaked. Everyone’s head swirled in the direction of the noise and Lincoln caught the old lady he tried to run over earlier trying to sneak away with two carts full of food. The squeaky wheel gave her away and she opted for one, rolling through the growing puddle of blood as she flat out ran. A trail of crimson footprints left behind.

  Someone else ran for a cart and the second their hands landed on the handle and pushed off with it, the crowd erupted flinging themselves forward. Lincoln held tight to the carts he’d stolen earlier squatting between them so he wouldn’t be trampled to death. They rolled forward with the throng of people until he’d been left alone with the other stragglers.

  People were shouting and yelling at each other again. The noise level rose to an all time high, layers and layers of voices became a static Lincoln couldn’t understand. Keeping his eyes straight ahead he didn’t linger, just in case someone wanted to apprehend him for killing those things. Going down an empty aisle he came face to face with empty register lanes. For the amount of people here he expected long lines but no one was paying.

  People were walking out of the store with anything they could carry. The traffic to get in the store was sparse, and Lincoln couldn’t believe there was an actual line to get out. He had a clear path to the line if he moved through an empty register lane.

  At the end of the line he stood impatiently craning his neck to see why it hadn’t moved. Not that he’d been standing there long, but he figured people would be trying to run out of the store as fast as they could with their stolen goods. His abrupt stop caused him to fidget bumping his cart in to the person in front of him. To his surprise they actually moved aside for him to pass.

  Halfway through the horde of people he realized something was keeping them inside. He kept up the pattern of nudging
people lightly in his way until he came face to face with the sliding doors being held open. It didn’t take long for him to understand why no one was willing to step outside. Everyone behind him was too scared to leave the safety of the store, wondering if they’d make it to their car. Three men and two women were hassling anyone that caught their attention—stealing by force, not out of desperation.

  Occupied with their current prey, the women in the group were shoving around a blond lady, snatching what little supplies she had and destroying it. Opening the packages and dumping out its contents, smashing boxes to smithereens until they were useless, or biting into it just to taste it. Lincoln recognized the woman they were terrorizing. Jamie worked at a school and she was on the verge of tears. He also recognized everyone in the group causing all the mayhem.

  Dessarillo was a small town, and everyone knows everyone’s name.

  The first to notice Lincoln was Chase, his smile turning into a frown at the sight of the man. Chase cleared his throat and the rest of them followed his gaze, shifting all their attention to Lincoln. It allowed Jamie the distraction she needed to get away. With both carts behind him, Lincoln made eye contact with each person standing outside the building. He’d dealt with them on numerous occasions at the sporting goods store. They knew Lincoln was never in the mood to entertain their antics. He’d thrown them out of the store several times never coming up short on his threats.

  “Chase, Gunther, Michael,” Lincoln greeted them each by name getting a nod in return. “Paula, Jenny.” The two women smiled mischievously at him, Jenny showing off several missing teeth because of her meth addiction. Jenny’s ratty brown hair moved in clumps as she flopped it behind her shoulder, and standing upright, looking down her nose at Lincoln. Paula was twitching, sweat poured down her temples and her eyes shifted every few seconds along with her feet.