The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Buried Instincts

by Henson, Lynn

  "We're not going anywhere with you. There's your choice of cars in this lot. Just take your pick and go on your way," Bree suggested.

  The mall cops eyes darted around frantically and his shoulders sagged. Then, as if remembering he was the one with the pistol he squeezed the handle and showed it determinedly to Bree. "Look, just get in the car. It's not up for debate." Blake took a quick glance behind him and saw the first of the people chasing them round the corner and start making their way towards them. "Uh, Bree... we don't have time for this," he said anxiously.

  "That's right Bree," he mocked, "Don't be stupid."

  Bree stood her ground for a second, then she seemed to deflate as she unlocked the car doors and got into the driver's seat. The mall cop had a nameplate that read "Mitch" on it. Mitch opened the passenger door and gestured to the back seat. Blake looked back and saw that the faster ones had reached the doors and were pushing them open by walking into them. He pulled the lever near the bottom of the passenger seat and stuffed himself into the back, pushing aside the various food items they'd collected. He quickly moved his calves flush to the seat he was sitting on as Mitch pushed the passenger seat back in place and slid it back. He closed the door, rolled down the window and pointed his pistol at the lead person who looked like a short pro basketball player who had been dragged behind a pickup for a couple miles.

  Bree didn't wait for him to take his shot. As soon as he closed his door, she gunned it and flew in the direction of the road. Blake looked through the rear window and saw people continuing their pursuit as the mob poured out of the building. Mitch pulled his pistol back inside and raised the window. "I'm hot," he complained. "Turn on the fucking AC." Bree turned it on and shut the vents on her side as she slowed down a bit to account for the dip between the parking lot and the street just before turning onto the road.

  "Ahhh, that's good. Fucking outlet got pretty damn hot during the day." He mopped his face with his free hand while continuing the make sure the barrel of his weapon was still pointed in Bree's direction. Bree continued to look determinedly forward, her face a mask of displeasure. "Have you been living at the outlet this whole time?" Blake asked carefully.

  "Yeah," he replied. "Just another boring day at work watching assholes running around spending money they don't have, dragging their screaming kids from store to store for these 'unbelievable sales'. Morons. Then suddenly people started fucking biting each other. One second it was all about getting 50% off your second pair of shoes, and the next it was trying to not get pieces of yourself ripped off. For once, being a security guard paid off. I was in the security office when shit went down and I didn't open that door for anyone," he said proudly.

  "But when we went in there, it looked pretty deserted," Blake said incredulously. "They all decided to congregate in the back of a Nike store."

  "The zombies didn't just do that themselves," he replied, exasperated. "I ran in there and they followed me in. If they got anything going for them, the fuckers are stubborn. Once I got most of them in there, I slipped out the back and ran back around and shut them all in. Good job letting them all out again by the way." He glanced back at Blake. "Dick," he added.

  "Zombies?" Bree scoffed. "Those things only appear in the movies."

  "Well, let's review. These bastards appear only to give a shit about getting close to people who aren't fucked up like them and eating them. Not really big on talking anymore. And in case you haven't noticed, they're all starting to smell like bums on a strict diet of rotten squirrel sandwiches," he reasoned. "I’d say that’s the definition of zombie."

  "If the shoe fits." Blake conceded.

  "No such thing as zombies," Bree groaned. "They're just sick. It's like the bird flu."

  "Whatever," snarled Mitch. "Just letting you all know that when I say 'Zombies', I'm referring to people infected with the god damned bird flu. And hey, what the fuck! Slow down bitch, don't drive so fast!"

  Blake had gotten used to Bree's high-speed driving, but Mitch just seemed to clue in that she was creeping up on 90 miles per hour. She sighed and eased off the gas, slowing down to a speed more appropriate to normal drivers. Mitch loosened his grip on the pistol and muttered, "Fucking Asian female fucking drivers."

  "Er... ok. So..." Blake gracefully attempted a subject change, "Why'd you insist on going with us anyway? You seem like a resourceful guy. Why not pick a car from the lot and hit the road?"

  "Please," he replied disdainfully. "I'm a mall security guard. Do you really think I have tons of initiative? I know the outlet and all about the people that go to outlets, but beyond that, I don't want to have to work at anything. That's why I've got you two. If this were Hot Dog on a Stick, I'm the assistant manager and you," he gestured to Blake, "are the moron who dips the cheese in batter and fries it. And you," he gestured with his pistol at Bree, "are the slut who bounces up and down squishing lemons."

  "Did you have to use a mall analogy?" Blake said, quietly.

  "Fuck you," Mitch retorted. "You always talk this much? Let's play a game. It's called shut the fuck up and I won't shoot you."

  twenty-one

  Half an hour later, Mitch was still sweating profusely. "Hey, pull over. I'm not feeling so good." Bree took a glance at him and started braking. Even from the back seat, Blake could see that Mitch was still sweating like crazy, despite the AC going full blast. They pulled over to the side of the road and Mitch popped his door open, then looked back at Bree. "Shut off the car," he insisted. "Hand over the keys." She scowled but did as she was told. Mitch grabbed the keys, stepped out of the car and walked around a little bit, taking deep breathes. Then he walked a little farther away and doubled over, gagging. Bree seemed to be taking this all in intently. Blake leaned forward and whispered, "We gotta get rid of this guy. Bad enough he's telling us what to do at gunpoint. Even worse that he's a mall cop. I don't want to be some mall cop's subordinate. Talk about low."

  She nodded in agreement. "He's not feeling well. He's going to have to rest at some point. When that happens, we ditch him. Also, better keep a close eye on him. If he's got whatever is turning people, we've gotta think fast." She shooed him with her hand, "Get back," she insisted, "Looks like he's feeling better."

  Mitch opened the passenger side and got in, tossing the keys to Bree. She caught them and plunged it into the ignition, starting the car. "You alright?" she asked.

  "Yeah. Just needed some fresh air," he replied, mopping his face with his free hand. "Get moving. I want to be in Vegas as fast as possible."

  Bree floored it in response. The g-forces shoved Blake and Mitch back into their seats. "Argh... not that fast! You're going to crash," Mitch protested. Bree sighed again and let off the accelerator. "What are you going to do in Vegas?" she asked.

  "You let me worry about that. You just get us there in one piece. Once we're there, I'll tell you what's up," he said dismissively. Bree suppressed a scowl and continued to focus on her driving.

  Mitch's sweating didn't abate though, and Blake had a difficult time discerning if he was conscious the entire time. The pistol stayed pointed at Bree though, so he was probably more conscious than not, Blake decided.

  After five minutes of silence, Mitch peered back at Blake. "I'm hungry. What you got back there dipwad?"

  Blake decided chances were good that Mitch was a Twinkie fan, and handed him one. Mitch unwrapped it, took a bite, then spat it out onto the car floor which caused Bree to grip the wheel harder. "How old was that shit?!" he demanded to know. "That fucking tasted like cigarette butts!" He tossed the rest into the back, landing nicely in Blake's lap after bouncing off his chest. Blake sighed inwardly when he saw that the creamy filling was on his shirt and crotch.

  "Don't you idiots have any real food?" Mitch asked reproachfully.

  Blake rummaged around, "I don't know what your definition of 'real' is, but we have water, instant noodles, canned pasta, and lots of snack foods."

  "So, no sandwiches? Anything with salami or bologna?" Mitch ask
ed, disgusted.

  "Nothing like that," Blake replied. "If we find stuff like that, it gets eaten first."

  "We’re stopping at the next rest stop and finding something good," Mitch declared. "I can't eat bullshit like that."

  "With the power out, I'm afraid you're not going to have much choice," Blake responded. "Until things get back under control, I think fresh food items are going to be a rarity for a while."

  "That's why we're going to Vegas," he said authoritatively. "Things are already back under control there."

  "Oh yeah?" Blake replied, dubiously. "How do you figure?"

  "Don't worry about it. In a few hours we're going to be eating good," he replied dismissively.

  Blake looked out the window towards the freeway and the figures continued their slow march to the west.

  twenty-two

  "Pull over. Your shit driving has made me sick again," Mitch complained.

  Bree slowed down and came to an uncharacteristically abrupt stop.

  "Come on. You know the drill," he thrust his empty hand palm up at her and opened and closed it.

  She fluidly pulled the key out and dropped it into his hand, careful not to make actual physical contact with him.

  He got out of the car and walked a distance away. Blake saw him dry heaving.

  "Why's he so sick?" Blake wanted to know.

  "Because of my shit driving," Bree replied sarcastically.

  "I don't feel anything," Blake disagreed.

  "You'd better hope you stay that way. I'm starting to think that fucker is sick, and if we continue to share the same air with him, we're going to start sweating too," Bree complained.

  "We have to ditch him," Blake whined. "This is starting to feel like high school all over again."

  "Ohhhkay. Look, stay cool and look for an opportunity to get out of this mess."

  Mitch came back, not looking better at all and tossed Bree the keys once he was in the car. He settled himself as best as he could and gestured towards the road.

  Bree started the car and started driving at a relatively reduced speed. Not a word was said for a long time when suddenly the pistol fell from Mitch's grasp and landed somewhere on the floor. For several seconds, the tension ratcheted up as Bree and Blake waited for some reaction from Mitch but when none came, Blake leaned forward into the front of the car to see if Mitch had finally passed out or fallen asleep.

  He could see that his eyes were closed and his head lolled into his chest. "Where's the gun?" he whispered.

  "Find it," Bree urged. "I don't want to wake up him, so I'm going to keep driving like this."

  Blake tried to reach down under the seat but found he couldn't really get his hand under it. He unbuckled himself, got into a fetal type position and started groping around underneath there.

  "Well?" Bree hissed.

  "Working on it," he grunted.

  He reached around looking for the pistol and his finger hooked into something moist and fleshy. Blake retched involuntarily.

  "What's wrong?" Bree whispered urgently.

  Blake pulled his finger out of whatever he'd hooked it into, suppressed the urge to sniff it and reached further forward to find the pistol.

  His hand finally found what felt like the right thing and he pulled it out from under the seat.

  "Got it!" he whispered triumphantly.

  "Alright. Great."

  Though the section of Nevada they were in was mostly desert, they were coming up on a small cluster of buildings. Bree pulled onto a side street and headed for those buildings.

  It was then that Mitch lunged for Bree, clawing at her with his left hand. The car instantly jerked right then spun to the left creating g-forces that pushed Blake towards the right of the car. He flailed about, trying to hold onto the gun, but ended up dropping it as he went head over heels into the space behind the passenger seat.

  The car screeched to a halt and Blake heard a door open followed by footsteps. He struggled to push himself into an upright position and managed to get himself back onto his seat with his legs folded underneath him. Mitch growled at him, craning his neck back to try to see him while clawing ineffectively at him with his left arm. Blake realized the douchebag was locked in place by his seatbelt.

  Blake righted himself again, sitting in his seat as the car's designers had originally envisioned and proceeded to scoot sideways towards the driver side door to get out of his predicament. Mitch was upset at this and jerked around in his seat to get a better swipe at him. "Grah!" he exclaimed as he took another awkward swipe at Blake.

  In an inspired moment, Blake used his foot to kick the seat back lever and shoved the seat forward pushing Mitch onto the glove compartment. He was able to locate the pistol and grabbed that while Mitch flailed and growled, trying ineffectively to free himself.

  Blake scooted over into the seat to his left while still pushing forward on the passenger seat then let go and quickly pushed the driver's seat forward and got out.

  He took a few steps forward out of the car, spotted Bree watching him so he kneeled slightly and pumped his fist triumphantly.

  "Well, I guess you're ok," Bree surmised.

  "I impressed myself," Blake admitted.

  "It must be nice being you," she responded. "Since you're on a roll, what are we going to do about getting that ass out of my car?"

  "Well... I do have this," he held up the pistol.

  "We can't just shoot him. You’re going to get mall cop pieces all over my interior."

  "Ok then. Maybe we just open his passenger door and let him out."

  Bree went over towards the passenger side door while Mitch reached towards her enthusiastically.

  "His seat belt's buckled," she proclaimed.

  "Hmmm... ok..." He went over to the driver's side, and she started making her way around to join him. "No, wait over there. I think I got this. Toss me the keys, would you?"

  She underhanded them over the roof of the car and he got an index finger on them such that they spun around crazily and landed on the street. Undaunted, he scooped them up and looked in at Mitch.

  The mall cop was torn as to who he should pay attention to. He kept grasping at Bree but would regularly snarl at Blake who stood close by.

  "Hey!" he called, getting both of their attention, "Distract him, would you? I need like ten seconds."

  Bree walked up to the passenger window and started knocking on it. Mitch focused completely on her and scrabbled at the window. Blake took a breath and stuck his torso into the car and put the key into the ignition and turned it just short of starting the car. The car's panel lit up and Blake pulled back out of the car as Mitch turned again to face him and thrashed about.

  "Keep at it!" he reminded her. Bree went back to rapping on the window while Blake ducked out of Mitch’s sight. Peeking in, he saw that Bree again had his full attention. He pushed the lever that controls the passenger side window. It slowly lowered and Mitch was soon halfway out in his eagerness to grab Bree.

  "Hey!" Bree protested.

  Blake then pushed the same lever in the opposite direction and the window slowly rose.

  "Hm," Bree said thoughtfully.

  The window went up as far as it would go and Blake let go of the lever. "How's he looking over on your side?"

  "He's stuck," she admitted. "The window has him hooked at his elbows."

  He took a breath and slowly stuck his torso into the car, watching Mitch carefully. Mitch immediately noticed this and struggled to turn around, but with his arms stuck in the window, the best he could manage was to rubberneck menacingly at him. Blake reached forward and unlatched the seat belt. Mitch continued to strain at him, oblivious of his new unrestrained state.

  Blake withdrew from the car and waved Bree over. Bree jogged over to the driver's side and raised her eyebrow at him. He glanced in to make sure he still had Mitch's attention. "Stay here and get ready to go." He crouched down and made his way around the back of the car. He glanced through the back window and
saw that Bree completely had Mitch's attention. He remained crouched and duckwalked over to the passenger door. Mitch's arms flailed around ineffectively as he tried to draw them back inside. Blake positioned himself at the door, slowly pulled on the handle, and once he was sure the door was open, jerked back as hard as he could.

  Blake backpedaled with the door as it opened completely. Mitch was dragged out of the car, ass landing on the street, legs still stuck inside the car as he hung by his arms, still stuck in the window. His back was arched to support this new awkward position and his head faced mostly skyward when it wasn't thrashing around trying to figure out where Bree or Blake was.

  Bree wasted no time in getting into the car and pushing Mitch's legs out of the car. Blake watched as first the right and then the left flopped to the ground. The window rolled down and Mitch slid to land face down on the street as the car rolled forward to help splay him out. Blake ran forward in the same direction the car was rolling and Bree brought the car to a stop a little ahead of him. Blake jumped into the passenger seat and was pulling the door shut when Bree floored it. The momentum finished closing the door and pushed Blake back into his seat. He glanced into the back mirror and saw Mitch had gotten to his feet and was walking towards them. Blake continued to look in that mirror until the prick had turned into a little speck.

  When he couldn't see him anymore, Blake looked over at Bree and was surprised to see she was looking completely relaxed to the point where you could've taken a picture and used it on a postcard with a caption that said, "Wish You Were Here." When she realized he was watching her, her goofy grin went away.

  "So..." she said self-consciously, sitting up a little straighter in her seat, "That was pretty good work back there."

  "Thanks. I think it worked out alright."