This Rotten World | Book 4 | Winter of Blood

by Morris, Jacy

  "Alright, people. This isn't a walk in the park. Get what you need, and get to the other side. One of you grabs, the other shines the light and pops the skulls."

  Allen and Day were the first two through the broken glass of the door. They could have shot out the windows of all the doors, but it didn't make any sense to make life easier for the dead on their trail, and they weren't exactly flush with ammo. There were cases of the stuff sitting back at the guardhouse on the Nike campus, but a fat lot of good that would do them now. If you didn't have to shoot it, then you didn't. That was the order.

  Whiteside and Brown came next, crawling across shattered glass. After a few brief moments on their knees, they were inside the gloom of the store. He heard the squeak of a sneaker on the linoleum, and he knew the dead were inside. To Brown, he said, "Shine that light, man."

  Brown illuminated the gloom of the store, and they headed straight ahead down a wide aisle that would afford them visibility. The customer service desk was smack dab in the middle of the store. In the aisle, the beam of Brown's flashlight illuminated the dead, shambling and heading in their direction. Allen and Day split off to their left to round up some of the camping equipment.

  "You want I should pop 'em?" Whiteside asked.

  "Do it," Brown said back, his voice tight. Whiteside wondered if Brown was as scared as he was. If only there was some way to pop the roof of the grocery store off and let in the gray light of the sky.

  Whiteside took aim at one of the shadows. The muzzle flash from his rifle seared into his vision, but when he looked again, the shape was on the ground. The sound of the muffled shot was loud. In another part of the store, he heard similar sounds. The dead had come to do some shopping. The two soldiers slid up the large aisle, moving around the tables of seasonal merchandise that had been set up in the middle. Summer crap like swimming pools, box fans, novelty ice trays in the shape of things like the Death Star or Disney characters all sat untouched, forgotten, and useless. When they came upon the tables, Brown and Whiteside had to split apart to go around them and continue forward. To Whiteside's right, racks of clothing hung rotting on hangers. The mannequins, with their cold eyes, made his trigger finger feel tight.

  To his right, he heard a noise. He spun, getting his rifle up in time to send a round through one of the dead he had mistaken for a mannequin. It fell to the ground inches from him, its ventilated skull spilling black liquid onto the tile floor. His boot squelched as he spun to continue toward the customer service desk.

  A table piled high with beach towels and bathing suits separated Whiteside from Brown when he saw the muzzle flash of Brown's rifle. "You ok?" Whiteside asked. He didn't want to have to be in here on his own. The place was damn spooky. Ahead he spotted three more of the dead stumbling in their direction.

  Brown said, "I'm fine. Damn thing seemed to come out of nowhere." Then they walked together, firing on the dead, moving smoothly.

  "Check your right," Brown said.

  Whiteside spun to his right, prepared for the worst, but all he saw were two Annies about ten feet away. "Got 'em," he said before putting them on the ground.

  They reached the rectangular customer service desk. Whiteside vaulted on top of the counter. "Shit," he said as the blood-soaked sole of his boot slipped on the counter's dusty surface, causing him to land behind the counter with a thump, his face inches from a rotting corpse. He let out a small squeak and then popped to his feet.

  "You good?" Brown asked.

  "Yeah, man, yeah." Whiteside shined his flashlight on the merchandise behind the counter. He smiled as the beam played over the rows of cigarettes. The major brands were gone, stolen or bought up by panicked patrons. But beggars couldn't be choosers. He located the lighters and, one by one, pulled them from the plastic tray that held them. He shoved them into his bag without worry. They could sort them out later. "You want some chew?" Whiteside asked.

  Brown's only answer was three sets of muzzle flashes. He heard the faint thump of bodies dropping to the ground. "No? Suit yourself." Whiteside grabbed a carton of cigarettes and stuffed it into his bag. He didn't recognize the brand, but he didn't care.

  "You get what we need?" Brown asked.

  "Check."

  "Let's get some food then."

  Behind them, the store had filled with more of the dead as they crawled their way in, one-by-one. As Whiteside turned to scan the path they had come in on, he saw scores of them shambling down the aisle, knocking novelty ice trays to the ground. He turned away from them, knowing that they needed to be a little bit quicker than they had been. In front, he could make out the shapes of more of the dead entering from the blue glare of daylight at the other end of the store.

  "Let's go," he said. The pair picked up their pace and moved to the grocery section of the store.

  "Make sure you're not shooting one of us," Brown said. "Look twice."

  They turned down a promising aisle filled with the remains of canned goods. They didn't take their time. They weren't choosy. If it was in a can, and it looked like food, they took it. Whiteside did the grabbing, shoving cans into Brown's backpack until it was full, and he couldn't fit anymore in.

  "Good," Whiteside said and tapped Brown on the shoulder. He stepped in front of Brown, and Brown repeated the process, shoving cans in Whiteside's backpack this time. By the time they had finished, Whiteside felt like he was carrying forty pounds of shit on his back. He just hoped his carton of smokes wasn't getting crushed.

  He jumped as a shape appeared at the end of the aisle. But it was just Masterson and his tired face. Whiteside gave him a nod, and Masterson headed down another aisle with Gregg trailing after him. "God, I'm going to be glad to get the hell out of here."

  "Me and you both, pal," Brown said.

  They cinched their knapsacks tight and headed to the staging area.

  ****

  Day and Allen had the shit job of rounding up tents. As they entered the store, they turned left to find the aisle filled with a dozen of the dead. They dropped them one by one, before advancing.

  "Smells like shit in here," Day said.

  Allen had nothing to say. Day was right. The smell of the dead was cloying. They moved silently toward the outdoor sports section of the store, stepping over the corpses on the ground, their blood shining black in the flashlight beams.

  They found the section they were looking for. "Keep a watch," Allen said.

  He eyed the rows of camping gear, looking for tents that were small and portable. He found what he was looking for on the bottom shelf.

  "Hurry up, man," Day said, his voice betraying his anxiety.

  "I'm going as fast as I can," Allen said as he pulled out the desired number of tents. They were mismatched and made a pile as high as he was when he had them stacked. "Shit," he said, his chin dropping to his chest. It would be impossible to carry all of the tents to the other side of the store. He looked around the aisle and spotted a shopping cart full of discount DVDs, his flashlight landing on the cover of a movie entitled "Dutch." He thought he recognized the actor on the cover but put the thought out of his mind as he tipped over the cart, dumping the DVDs out with a loud clatter. He pushed the cart back, flinching from the muzzle flash of Day's rifle.

  He rushed to pile the tents into the shopping cart, but the cardboard boxes they were packed in made them cumbersome.

  "What's taking so long, man?" Day asked.

  "I gotta take some of these out of the boxes."

  "Fuck that," Day said. "Just take what you can."

  "You want to sleep outside?"

  On the other side of the aisle, he heard Walt and Epps arguing over which sleeping bags to take. Epps took the time to stop arguing with Walt and yelled over at Allen, "I ain't sleeping outside, man."

  Allen ripped at the boxes, pulling the tents from them one by one and tossing the boxes behind him. They were easier to stack in the cart without the boxes, but his fingers felt clumsy, and he could feel the seconds ticking away.


  "Coming out!" Epps yelled as he ran into the light coming from Day's flashlight.

  Allen threw another tent into the shopping cart as he caught a glimpse of Walt and Epps fleeing away from them, burdened by ten sleeping bags. They wouldn't be able to shoot anything with that load.

  "Shit," he said. "Go cover them, Day."

  "What about you?" Day asked.

  "I got this," he said. He didn't. He still had to tear three tents from their boxes before he would be ready to go, but he would be alright.

  Day nodded at him and took off after Epps and Walt. "Wait for me, you jackasses."

  Allen finished unboxing another tent and threw it into the shopping cart. He picked up another one, fumbling with the cardboard until he was able to rip one of the end flaps open. He pulled the tent out. As he placed it in the cart, he heard the clatter of cardboard behind him. He spun, trying to pull his rifle up, but the Annie was on him too fast, pinning the barrel between his own body and that of the Annie. He let the rifle drop and pushed a hand up under the Annie's frigid chin. It felt like ice.

  He reached down to his belt and undid the strap on his KA-BAR. He grabbed the knife and jammed it up into that cold throat. The Annie fell to the ground, and Allen bent down to retrieve his trusty knife, a present from his father who always said, "The army will take care of most things, but the one thing the army doesn't do is give you a badass knife."

  He stood and wiped the bloody knife on the Annie's body. He replaced it in its sheathe and left the strap undone, just in case he needed it again. He looked down at the last boxed tent. With his heart beating in his chest and the feeling of the dead closing in on him, he said, "Fuck it. Rudy and Amanda can sleep together."

  He pulled his rifle into a better position and pushed the shopping cart down the aisle as fast as he could.

  ****

  Tejada ran with Rudy and Amanda. They had been the last group to crawl through the broken glass. He stood outside, willing the pair to move faster, and he knew he was on the verge of panic. He watched as the dead tumbled down the hill. The first wave made their way across the parking lot, dozens of them. Speed was important here. He took his eyes off the dead and crawled through the broken glass, turning his back on the tide that threatened to wash over them.

  Hopefully, the others had cleared the way for them. As he stood up, he saw the flashing of muzzles inside the darkness of the store. "Amanda, light the way."

  They turned left, stepping over a dozen or so of the dead. "Keep your head on a swivel," Tejada said.

  Rudy moved rather gracefully for how big he was. In no time at all, they were in the aisle with the camping gear. "Grab that stove, Amanda. Shove it in Rudy's backpack, and grab yourself one of those backpacks while you're at it."

  The young woman did as she was told, and Tejada continued walking down the aisle. "Rudy, grab some of those propane tanks when you get the chance and throw those in Amanda's bag. Get as many as you can. We're going to need them."

  He left the two to their task, keeping an ear out for any trouble. He walked past a few aisles, watching his other men do their work. He saw Allen and Day grabbing tents and Walt and Epps loading themselves down with sleeping bags. It was a lot of gear, and it would all have to be redistributed if they were going to make it. One thing was for sure. Running was gonna be way more of a bitch with everyone loaded down with gear. But the weather was against them, and it was better to be tired than to freeze to death or die of thirst because you couldn't turn snow into water. And where they were going, they were going to need to melt snow.

  Tejada walked back and checked on Rudy and Amanda. They were ready.

  He heard his men firing off rounds in the dark store; he saw the brief flare of muzzle flashes, and he knew that they needed to speed things up. "Let's go, you two."

  Rudy and Amanda fell in behind him, and they moved quickly to the kitchen section of the superstore, stepping over the Annies his men had already killed. He marched down an aisle that looked to have what he was looking for. He scanned the rack and pulled a set of silverware free from its packaging. He shoved a handful of spoons and forks in his own bag and said, "You two see if you can find the can openers. It's gonna be a bitch if we got all that food and can't eat it."

  They scampered off, and Tejada stared at the items on the racks, trying to remember if he had forgotten anything. Then he thought of Amanda and how unprepared she was. A canteen, some sort of water bottle. All of the soldiers had them. You didn't go out in the field and not take your canteen. Dehydration was the number two enemy of the soldier. Of course, the number one enemy of the soldier was anything that wanted to intentionally kill you.

  He spotted a rack full of metal water bottles; he picked one that had a strap that would allow it to hang from a belt or a backpack, and then he met up with Rudy and Amanda. He shoved the canteen at Amanda. "Here. You're gonna need this."

  She grabbed it from him and muttered a word of thanks.

  "We got these," Rudy said. He held out a couple of can openers. One was larger, with plastic handles. It looked like something one would find in any kitchen in America. The other was a small model, classic, like something you'd find in an abandoned camper from the 1950s.

  He pointed at the second can opener, the smaller one, and said, "Get me a bunch of these. We're gonna need more than one in case we get separated, and the smaller the better."

  Rudy hustled off, as pops of light and sound exploded in the area of the store where they needed to go. "Hurry up, Rudy. We gotta get out of here."

  The kid hustled back, his hands full of basic can openers. Tejada turned around and let Rudy stuff them in his backpack. He watched as Epps and Walt hustled by, their arms loaded down with sleeping bags. Day tagged along, running in front of them and his flashlight tracking the movement of his gun barrel. He was doing a fine job of protecting them.

  "Hold up!" Tejada said, and then he lightened Walt and Epps' burden by grabbing three of the sleeping bags. He tossed one to Rudy, one to Amanda, and kept one for himself. "Alright, you two get to the rendezvous, spread those things out. I have a feeling we're gonna be doing some running. Day, where the fuck is Allen?"

  "I was guarding those two," he said, indicating Walt and Epps.

  Tejada nodded. "Alright, keep up with 'em." He patted Day on the shoulder and dismissed him. Day jogged to catch up with Epps and Walt. He turned to Rudy and Amanda. "You two come with me. We're gonna check on Allen. Amanda, while we're headed back that way, find yourself a baseball bat or something. I have a feeling you're going to need it. I'd get you a gun, but this place doesn't look like it sells any, and we don't have the time for it anyway. Come on."

  He turned, and the two followed after him. As they reached the end of the aisle, they dove to the side as Allen came barreling around the corner with a shopping cart full of tents, small, compact, and sealed in nylon bags.

  "They're coming!" Allen yelled as he pushed the cart past them.

  Tejada turned to Rudy and Amanda. "Alright, forget the baseball bat. We gotta go."

  They spun on their heels and escorted Allen to the rendezvous. Everyone was there, loaded down with gear.

  "Alright, tents are here. Everyone grab one. Get yourself a sleeping bag. Spread your shit out. We need to be able to move. Hey, Allen, what the fuck is this? We're one tent short."

  "Oh, I figured Rudy and Amanda could share one."

  "You don't get paid to figure, Allen. Next time I tell you to do something, you do it fucking right." Allen's head dropped for a second, but it was what it was. This was a critical time, and if he let people just go off and do their own thing, that could lead to some very bad consequences down the road. He wasn't mad at the man; he just had to make the point, and in front of everyone else was the perfect place to do it. They had to know they weren't on the Nike campus anymore. They were in the shit, and the shit was trying to get into them. "We're not going to worry about it for now. We don't got the time for it. Everyone get your gear situated. We gott
a move. We got about two minutes before our tail catches up to us."

  For the next minute or so, they transferred goods and items from one backpack to another. Food, propane tanks, flatware, tents, and sleeping bags were all shifted around until everyone's load was equal. Tejada grunted as he shouldered his pack, and then they were ready to go–– out into a snow-filled world populated by the dead.

  As the dead started to appear behind them, the soldiers formed up ranks and moved into the bright light of day. Tejada had to squint against the glare from the snow-covered parking lot. The soldiers fired into the ranks of the dead at the door, clearing a path for themselves at the cost of their ammunition. Every one of them had a hatchet, scavenged by Masterson and Gregg, but if it came down to hatchets against this many of the dead, they wouldn't be making it out alive, at least, not all of them. Close quarters combat was a last resort.

  Thankfully, they had enough ammo to do the job, and they sprinted through the opening in the ranks of the dead. Tejada came last, ducking to his left to avoid the outstretched arms of an old man in a cardigan sweater who somehow miraculously still had a set of eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose though he looked to have been dead for months. Tejada was safe, but he felt something tear in his hip when he made the movement, and he spilled to the snow-covered ground. His hands sunk into the snow, and he struggled to rise.

  "Shit," he hissed to himself. I should have limbered up better, I guess. The nearest person to him was Rudy. He heard Tejada's pained hiss and spun around. With Rudy's hands under his shoulder, he was able to get to his feet, though he felt the pulling of the dead man at his backpack. With his free arm, Tejada pulled his pistol, spun, and put a round through the forehead of the old man. He fell backward, revealing a wall of Annies, their clothing now painted with the brains of the old man. He saw the Annie hit the ground, and damn it all, those glasses still stuck to the bridge of his nose.