by Morris, Jacy
"Good, good. We're all here," Tejada said. "Let's get down to business." Tejada plopped down a book on the table and pointed to a page filled with lines and labels. "This is a map of the surrounding area. Now, I've been catching wind of some dissension among your people. It sounds like they don't want us here any longer."
He addressed this last part to Diana. She didn't deny his words, but instead said, "I gave you my word. You kept your part of the bargain. You're safe here until spring."
"Yeah, well, by spring, food's going to be mighty short in supply, and there are more of you than there are of us. I don't need a kite to know which way the wind is blowing."
"Where do you get all of those earthy sayings?" Diana asked, not confirming or denying Tejada's suspicions.
"I got a book. I read it every night." Allen didn't know if Tejada was joking or not. He continued on, never breaking his stride. "Now, you know this area better than we do, so maybe you can help us out. Rather than sitting here waiting for people to get starving and desperate, I figure it might be a good idea to do something about it. If you could point out the closest supermarkets and shopping centers on this map, maybe we can find some food."
Diana leaned over the map, pausing for a second to orient herself. "The nearest supermarket is here. Fred Meyer."
"What the fuck is a Fred Meyer?" Whiteside asked.
"It's everything you're looking for," Diana said. "It's got food, guns and ammo, clothes, toilet paper… that is, if it hasn't been looted to the shelves."
"Even if it has, we ought to take the chance. There's probably a lot of stuff we could use," Tejada said.
After that, Diana briefed him on what lay between the Nike campus and the Fred Meyer, other than thousands of the dead. Having done that, Diana asked, "Do you want any of my people?"
Allen almost spoke up then. He most definitely didn't want any of those people along, but Tejada beat him to the punch. "It's better if we go alone. We've been out there. While your people did a crackerjack job of cleaning up the buildings in here, I don't know how they'll react out in the real world. And if we come back without some of your people, well, it kind of undermines the time we're buying. Don't ya think?"
Diana nodded her head and said, "I wish you the best." She almost sounded like she meant it. As she left, she trailed a hand across Allen's arm and said, "I'll be waiting for you."
Allen blushed red. The other men in the room grinned at him, and he knew he was in for another round of ballbusting from his friends. Once Diana was out of ear-shot, they went over the plan. It was a good plan. Hopefully, they would all be coming back. As he turned to exit the room, Tejada clapped him on the back and said, "Don't be up all night now. We got work to do in the morning." Allen blushed some more. That night, he spent the evening with Diana, trying to figure her out. But she was gone in an hour, and he fell asleep, tossing and turning, wondering why he felt so damn uncomfortable.
****
Rudy didn't hesitate when the word went out. He readied his rifle, making sure it was good and clean. He had come to rely on his weapon. Sergeant Tejada said he wasn't a half-bad shot. He wouldn't be winning any marksmanship contests any time soon, but he could kill what he was aiming at. The dead were easy. They didn't bob and weave like a human did, but he was hoping there would be no humans to shoot at on this excursion.
Amanda entered their shared bedroom, more of an office with the desk removed, and she wrapped her arms around him. There was less of him to hug than when this all started, but she could still barely get her arms around him. "It's going to be alright," he said. He believed the words that came out of his mouth, but she didn't.
"You don't have to go," she said.
"I know."
"We could just break away from them, stay here. If you go with them, we might not be able to stay."
Rudy sighed. They had been over this before. He would do anything for Amanda, but he wouldn't let her come to harm. And if they stayed here, that's exactly what would happen. She had dreams of staying here, growing food, and trying to live something of a normal life. But they both knew that was over now. All he had to do was bring up Portland, bring up the fact that there might be a million of the dead just ten miles to the west of them. If the wind blew the right way, they could show up at any moment… and then there was nothing they would be able to do.
"You know we have to leave," he said. "Whatever we are, we aren't one of them."
"So then wait. Wait for the spring. Wait for when they leave. You don't have to do this now." She buried her head in his chest, and he held her tight. She was hard to argue with when she was like this. Feeling like an asshole, he disengaged her arms and held her so he could look her in the eyes. God, they were beautiful eyes.
"I'm going because they'll need the help. I'm going because, even though they could have left me behind, they came back for me. They kept us together. We owe them."
"Then I'll go too," she said, starting an argument that they had gone over a dozen times already.
"No, you stay here. Keep an eye on things. I doubt those Nike fucks will do anything behind our backs, but just in case…" Rudy didn't know how to finish the thought, so he just shrugged. "It'll only be a few hours. Tejada says we're just going to recon the place and then head right back."
She didn't say anything, and that was somehow worse to him. He kissed her on the forehead, still feeling like the luckiest guy in the world. "I love you." And he did.
She nodded, unable to say the words. But that was ok. He had heard the words before. He sighed, grabbed his rifle, and turned to leave.
From behind, he heard her say the words. "I love you too." He paused then and waited for her to put her own jacket on. She caught up to him, and he squeezed her hand, wishing that they weren't wearing gloves so he could actually feel her skin against his.
He walked out the door with his love by his side, still marveling at the fact someone could say those three words to him.
****
Walt stood on the white snow that covered the grass of the Nike campus. They were in the northwest corner of the campus, stamping their feet and going over final instructions. He thought the plan was stupid. He thought it was a terrible idea, but he was still going to go through with it. He couldn't believe he was going to, but it was too late to say no. He would lose respect if that happened, and respect was really all he had these days, that and American Express. He shifted, feeling the weight of the bowling ball hanging from his back. In a heartbeat, he could have it pulled and swinging, ready to smash any of the dead that came too close to him.
They were all there, the eight soldiers, led by Tejada, Rudy and Amanda, and himself, everyone who had made it out of Portland alive. Day, hideous as a Picasso on acid, stood hopping from foot to foot. Day couldn't handle the cold. He had complained about it all winter long. Periodically, he would blow into his hands to try and break the winter chill that clung to his digits.
"Man, it's so cold, I bet I could see you fart," he said to Whiteside.
"Me? You're the one that can't handle his beans," Whiteside shot back. He was small in stature but thick for how small he was. His head looked like it belonged to someone twice his size though. Whiteside had bags under his eyes like he was permanently hungover. Walt didn't much care for the man, but he was good in a pinch, and loyal as hell, though he'd just as soon bust your balls as ever say anything nice to you. Day complemented him well.
Brown stood off to the side, praying. He didn't do it loudly, but he offered up a small prayer, his lips moving ever so slightly, his almond-shaped eyes covered by rounded brown eyelids. Walt had given up on religion, but if it made Brown feel better about their upcoming mission, then he was all for it.
He called it a mission, though no one else in the group had called it that. That was exactly what it was to him… a mission. His first chance to show that he had learned his lessons. Sure, he had helped clear the campus of the dead, but this was his first time going out into the shit with all of Tejad
a's training stored in his noggin.
Max Masterson, Izzy Allen, and Gregg maneuvered a metal ramp into position. Nike's eggheads had designed the ramp. It was wide enough for two people to walk side by side and made of a wooden frame that had been covered in sheet metal to give it some durability. The plan was to line it up with the top of the wall that surrounded the campus, hit the Annies hard, and then plop down on the other side. Walt didn't like the plan, as it required someone on the other side to push the ramp up and over the wall for their return. Maybe they should have put a hinge in the middle or something, like a drawbridge. Why didn't the eggheads think of that?
Walt had a feeling that getting out would be the easy part. Maybe the shit would hit the fan so hard out there that they would be forced to move on. He wouldn't mind if that happened. It wouldn't bother him one bit. The Nike campus had a way of making people soft, and he was trying to do the opposite. He wanted to be hard, like a rock, like old American Express, waiting to be unleashed upon the dead.
With a groan and a clang, Masterson, Allen, and Gregg slid the ramp in place. He watched as everyone fell silent. They checked their rifles once again, making sure that the safeties were off. They checked the straps on their gear. They were each outfitted with an empty bag. They would fill these with food if the store they went to check out wasn't completely scavenged down to the shelves. He didn't like the bag. It felt cumbersome, confining, but food was the whole point of the mission, so the bag stayed.
Brown finished his prayer, and Tejada called over to him. "Whiteside, Brown, you're up first. Clear the way. Allen, Gregg, you're up after. Clear out anything else. I don't need to tell you bastards to be careful when you jump off the wall. You twist an ankle when you land, and you're up shit creek without a paddle, and that means so are the rest of us. Tuck and roll, get to your feet, and when you come up, come up ready to shoot. I want a path, I want it fast, and I want us all to get back here and be ready for dinner by sunset." Tejada waved Brown and Whiteside up the ramp.
Their boots clanged off the metal as they rushed up the ramp. It wobbled slightly as they moved, and Walt had a brief image of falling off the side of it into the waiting arms of dozens of Annies. Whiteside and Brown reached the top of the wall and then began firing off rounds. The rifles they had liberated from the security room of the Nike campus were all army surplus M4's that had been outfitted with suppressors. They weren't silent like in the movies, but they were quiet enough to keep the Annies around the campus from being alerted.
As he watched, Brown and Whiteside let their rifles drop to their sides, and they inched to the left and right, standing on top of the wall itself. They ejected their spent magazines and put them in their pockets to be reloaded later. As they slammed home new magazines, Allen and Gregg sprinted up the ramp, their own rifles held at the ready. Then they too began taking shots at the dead.
Walt licked his lips. It was almost time for him to do something. He jumped as Rudy gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. He had to keep himself from lashing out at Rudy, then Tejada was hissing at them to move. One-by-one, they jogged up the ramp and dropped down on the other side. Allen and Gregg were already over, then went Masterson, then Day, then came his turn. He ran up the right half of the ramp, his stomach flipping each time the ramp wobbled under his weight. Perhaps they could get the Nike eggheads to put some rails on the side.
Then he was at the top of the wall. He only had a second to see Allen, Gregg, Masterson, and Day fanning out, their rifles expelling gas and spent shell casings as they shuffled forward, their heads cocked to the side as they took aim at the heads of the Annies around them. He dropped into a sea of carnage–– twisted bodies, fallen however gravity had decided they should fall. He landed on the dead, waiting for them to reach out for him, but they were truly dead this time. He unslung his rifle, trying to remember his own training. He held it up to his face, cocking his head to peer down the sight and take aim at one of the Annies. He moved away from the wall, stepping gingerly over the corpses, careful of heeding Tejada's warning to avoid twisting an ankle. Then he joined the circle of soldiers.
Bodies fell left and right, and the air smelled of cordite. Then they were crunching through the snow, listening as a wave of groans went up from the dead. "Double-time it," Tejada said, loud enough for every man to hear over the groans and the not at all quiet pops of suppressed M4s.
They rushed forward, jogging in the snow. A half-mile of suburban thoroughfare stretched ahead of them, lined with stalled vehicles in various conditions of disrepair. Occasionally, they would pause and take out pockets of the dead that Tejada deemed too risky to push through. These pauses took no more than a few seconds, but with each one of those seconds, the horde of the dead that trailed them grew closer. Time was important here. Tejada had told them all that much. The goal was to get out, run to the store, check it out, grab some food if they could, and get back as fast as possible. If the dead that followed caught up to them quick enough, they could find themselves trapped in the grocery store. But if they were quick, they could grab the food, see what they could see, and get back before the wall repopulated itself with the dead. That was the hope anyway.
Walt took aim with his rifle and watched in fascination as the bullet he fired popped an Annie's head like a melon. Bits of gore showered the snow around the slumping thing's feet, turning the snow red. Anyone want a snow cone? he thought.
He ran forward, the snow making his months of training in the compound seem inadequate. He heard Rudy gasping for air behind him, and he hoped he wasn't having another of his asthma attacks. He had lost a lot of weight over the last few months, but he wasn't what anyone would consider in shape. Walt crossed his fingers that the big man had brought his asthma inhaler.
Ahead of him, he watched Epps and Whiteside clear a group of four Annies with no hesitation. They sprinted down the road, avoiding the tall underbrush growing in the ditches on either side. Nature had begun to reclaim the land. The road, with its shambling dead and abandoned cars, offered the quickest means of moving. For a while, they had tried to get a semi-truck they had found on the compound up and functional, but by the time they got the battery jumped and the tires filled with air, they realized that the damn thing was so low on gas that it was really just a one-way ticket on wheels.
They crested a rise and came to an intersection. The stoplights hung like dark eyes over the snow-covered pavement. A Popeye's Chicken restaurant sat dead on one corner, while a sign for Les Schwab Tire Center rose into the sky across the street. They hoofed it across the street. Despite there being absolutely no call for it, Walt still couldn't help but look both ways as he followed the others through the intersection, as if a speeding car was going to sneak up on them at any moment and plow into them. They slid down a small hill and entered the parking lot. They found their target behind the Les Schwab. A gray building, tall and blocky, rose into the sky, the words "Fred Meyer" emblazoned on the side of the building, twenty feet in the air. Small shops sat abandoned around the outside of the building, their windows busted in and their interiors dark.
The busted windows weren't a good sign. They ran towards the building, and Walt's breath came in gasps. Half-a-mile through the snow was a whole lot more exhausting than half-a-mile through grass. Another inch of snow had seemed to fall as if by magic since they had jumped over the wall. Cold wind cut across his face, and snot dripped from his nose. He didn't even bother to wipe it. He wasn't out here for a fashion shoot. He suppressed a smile. That sounded like something that Tejada might have said.
As he expected, the doors to the Fred Meyer were already broken, and they crunched over shattered glass, switching on the flashlights mounted to their rifles.
"Get inside," Tejada hissed as he waved each soldier into the store. Walt tossed a glance over his shoulder. Rudy was a good twenty paces behind him. No one bothered to carry him this time. Tejada had made it damn clear that no one was going to be picking up his slack on this mission. He either carried his ow
n weight, or the Annies would chew it off of him.
Behind Rudy, the dead hit the crest of the small hill, and they tumbled down the side, gravity and snow turning it into an obscene snow park. Walt ducked inside and clicked on his flashlight. It illuminated only a small bit of the darkness, and he wished that he could have blown the roof right off the building for a little light. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he tried to peer into every dark corner at once.
Gregg tapped him on the shoulder, and they moved as a pair. Crushed items and forgotten cans of food littered the ground. The grocery store reeked of rot, from the dead or long-spoiled meat was unclear. They found the aisles of groceries at the front of the building. Allen's main squeeze had given them the basic layout of the store, and they had each been assigned an aisle to scavenge. For Gregg and Walt, their aisle turned out to be a bust. It had formerly been the aisle where bags of chips and snacks had been stored, but there was precious little left on the shelves. They grabbed anything they could, even cans off the floor and bags of chips that had been crushed flat. Every little bit of food could be helpful. Then they crossed a path that ran perpendicular between the shelves and entered the other half of the aisle. A few cans of soda littered the ground. Walt stooped to pick them up, and then he heard and saw Gregg's M4 burp a few rounds. Something in the darkness fell to the ground with a thump, and Walt's heart pounded in his chest. By the time they had reached the end of their aisle, Walt's bag was only half full. He was pretty sure he had scored a bunch of diet soda and a couple of crushed bags of plain Fritos. He had room for more, though. He wanted to cruise another aisle, but Tejada had been clear. "Quick and fast. Run and grab."
They turned left at the end of the aisle, Walt keeping his rifle trained on the Annie that Gregg had taken down. He didn't trust things to stay dead any longer. That was just common sense now. It was cold in the store, but he could still smell all the rotten meat that had spoiled in the cases. They stood, searching the darkness around them as the others emerged from their assigned aisles. They had been able to cover four today.