Elements of the Undead: Fire (Book One) (20 page)

She shook her head and tried to dismiss the image.
There’s nothing I can do about that now. It’s part of who I am. Who I was.

With a dismayed groan, Megan kicked the sheets from her feet and sat up. She shivered, chilled as the light sheen of sweat evaporated.
I’ll deal with this later
, she told herself as she got up.
Right now I have work to do.

Today’s job was a supply run into the center of town. They were planning to loot a construction tool rental company in hopes of finding a trailer-mounted diesel generator. Up until now, the community had survived without electricity, taking water from the stream in the canyon and using candles for light. A generator would give them flexibility to draw from the well as well as the ability to use power tools and the equipment necessary to maintain the vehicles. She even held out hope that they could power up the bank of dark computers in the back of the ranger station and use the satellite dish on the roof to connect to the internet, if it still existed. It would be nice to see if there was anything left of the outside world.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Megan sprang from her bed and began to dress—thick, canvas cargo pants and a cotton tank top. She laced up a pair of heavy hiking boots as well to protect against broken glass. After a quick scan of the room, she decided she was ready to go.

Despite the new complications in her life, Megan found herself whistling as she strapped on her guns and hefted her armored jacket from the chair beside the bed.
This is going to get interesting.

Thirty-One

Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer
…

Megan repeated this mantra to herself as she drove the old white Park Service truck through the ruins of downtown Tucson. She had been tempted to remain in camp and send Pringle off by himself, but at the last minute she had decided it was best to come along, to attempt some sort of reconciliation through shared sacrifice. It had sounded good back at camp. Now she wasn’t so sure.

In addition to herself and Pringle, Kevin was on his motorcycle serving as a forward scout. He stayed a block ahead of them the entire time, searching for traffic blockages, clusters of undead, anything that could slow them down. Twice so far, he had come roaring back to the convoy, adjusted their course, and sent them down a different combination of streets to avoid an unseen threat.

Megan rode with Pringle, an icy silence wedged between them the entire way. Jack drove the second truck with Beth Fontaine and her boyfriend Marty Jackson, both out of Wilcox. The rental center parking lot was empty, a locked gate serving to keep it free of the undead. Kevin popped the lock in no time, waved them in, and pulled the gate shut behind them. They waited in silence for three full minutes, the clock on the dash ticking as they prepared for the incursion.

The plan was simple. Megan, along with Kevin and Pringle, would go in and clear the building while the others remained on lookout. At the front doors, Megan reviewed the plan one more time. One by one, she stared each person in the eye, reaffirming their interdependence. It was an old trick she had learned right after the 9/11 attacks. She and her sister had been on the way to a vacation in Cancun with their parents. Soon after the cabin doors closed, the pilot had appeared at the front of the cabin. For ten minutes, he walked through the aircraft making eye contact with each and every passenger, reassuring them that he was in control, that they had nothing to worry about. Both she and her sister had been terrified to fly at the time, but the pilot’s actions had put her at ease, allowed her to relax and even enjoy her flight.

She saved Jack for last. It took everything she had not to smile like a stupid kid when she met his eyes. Her face burned. She made it quick, and then turned away.

The front door was already unlocked. They stepped inside. The store appeared untouched, as if the owners had stepped out for lunch only minutes before. The air smelled of grease and gasoline. Lawnmowers, dirt, and something else, an undercurrent, sickly-sweet, slightly cloying, with hints of cinnamon and dried beef. A zombie.

Kevin reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of ball bearings. With a quick glance at Megan and Pringle, he tossed them deep into the shop, up and over the tall, steel equipment racks. The steel balls shattered the silence of the store as they ricocheted off counters and shelves at the rear. The zombie moaned.

“Damn it,” Kevin muttered. “I hate the ones that have been closed up. They smell the worst.”

Megan grimaced. She hated the indoor ones as well. For some reason, they seemed
moister
, fleshy bags of putrefying rot that tended to explode into chunks of slimy, decaying flesh at the slightest impact, a far cry from their outdoor brethren who toughened up like an old leather belt under the desert sun.

“Here we go,” she said.

They fanned out. Megan stayed in the center while Pringle went right and Kevin headed left.

“It sounds like only one,” Kevin whispered. Footsteps. Coming closer. The creature moaned again. It was straight ahead. Megan choked down on the grip of her three-pound splitting maul, readying her muscles for action. She glanced to the right, looking for Pringle. He was gone.

What the fuck?
“Where’s Pringle?” she hissed at Kevin. Before he could answer, the creature stumbled from the gloom. Morbidly obese in its former life, and standing somewhere north of six-and-a-half-feet tall, it shuffled toward her, ignoring Kevin entirely. The name on the patch over the creature’s breast pocket was “Rod.”

As it came within range, Megan put her weight on her back foot and swung down with her maul, letting loose a blood-curdling scream of rage and frustration in the process. Her swing hit home, plunging into the side of the creature’s head, splitting it open like a melon.

She took a step back and yanked her tool from the creature’s head with a wet sucking sound, wrenching with all of her might. The zombie kept coming. For a terrifying moment, she thought she had missed, that the creature was still attacking, and then, like a tree blowing over in the wind, it pitched forward and crashed to the ground where she had just been standing.

“Nice!” Kevin exclaimed.

Megan allowed herself a brief smile, and turned to scan the front of the store again. “Now where the hell did Mike go?”

Kevin shrugged. “Shit, I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.” He took a step into the rear of the store, disappearing into the shadows.

“Light,” Megan reminded him.

“Oh, yeah.” He unclipped an LED Maglite from his belt and flicked it on. She did the same. They played their beams along the aisles leading to the rear where the generators would be stored. There was no sign of Pringle.

“Mike,” she called out softly, then again more forcefully. “This isn’t funny.” Pringle was known for his practical jokes, although why he would pick this moment to play one was beyond her. She stalked over to the front door and opened it. “Did Mike come out here?”

“No,” Jack answered with a concerned frown. “He’s not with you?”

She shook her head. “No. He disappeared.”

“Do you want me to come in? Look for him?”

Megan looked over his shoulder at the street beyond, weighing the risks. She wanted at least three people outside, just in case. “No. Better you stay here.” Jack didn’t look convinced, but he agreed.

“Back in a minute,” Megan said, letting the door swing closed.

Wait...Where’s Kevin?

She took a step toward the rear. “Kevin?” There was a muffled coughing from somewhere in the back. “Kevin?” she cried again, getting worried. “Is that you?”

She stood stock still for a few moments, trying to decipher the sound. It wasn’t a zombie. They didn’t make that noise. No. It sounded like someone had sucked a drink down the wrong pipe and was trying to clear their throat.
Like they were choking.

She took off at a run, straight down the center aisle. It was a bad idea, she knew, but she had no choice. As she reached the rental counter stretching across the rear of the building, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, a door swinging shut.
The storage room.

“Mike?” she called out in barely a whisper. “Kevin?” She was answered by a deathly silence. Megan took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and stepped to the door. She listened carefully. There was someone, or some
thing
, inside moving around, faintly scratching. Shuffling.
Another zombie?
She drew her pistol and thumbed off the safety. She wished she hadn’t told Jack to wait outside; she considered, just for a moment, turning around and getting him.
There’s no time
.
Mike and Kevin may be in trouble…
As quietly as possible, she pushed on the door, cringing as the hinges squealed.

The room beyond was as dark as a moonless night. She played her flashlight across the far wall. A figure, coming fast from her right
. Too fast to be a zombie.

“What—” Before she could finish, her assailant crashed headlong into her, sending her tumbling to the floor in an ungraceful heap. Her gun discharged with a blinding flash, and her flashlight flew from her hands to clatter away into the darkness, throwing crazy patterns on the walls as it spun.
Crack
! A powerful blow connected with her jaw, snapping her mouth closed, driving her teeth through the tip of her tongue. Blood exploded into her mouth.

In the time it took her to realize what was going on, her attacker snatched her pistol from her hand and tossed it away on the cool concrete. He straddled her and pinned her hands behind her head, digging a knee in to her stomach to keep her pinned to the floor. Megan squirmed and bucked, trying to break free, and was rewarded with another vicious blow to the face.

“I’ve got her!” her attacker yelled. It was a young man’s voice, one she knew. There was a soft click, and the overhead lights blazed to life, flooding the room with harsh white light.

Megan blinked and gasped in shock. It was Peter Woo, the new kid. “Peter?”

Woo grinned at her and held a finger up to his lips.

“Megan.” The voice came from behind her.

Megan craned her neck. “Mike?” Pringle stepped into her field of view slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

She spit a glob of blood on the floor. “What the hell are you doing? Where’s Kevin?”

“I said
quiet
!” Woo said, digging his knee in deeper. Megan grunted at the pain, but didn’t take her eyes from Pringle. Squatting down beside her, Pringle brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. Alternating waves of sorrow and triumph radiated from his face.

He shook his head sadly. “I told you things had to change, but you just wouldn’t listen…”

Thirty-Two

Jack dug around in his back pocket and fished out a tin of chewing tobacco. He ran his fingernail around the lid, slicing the paper seal.
Marty watched him intently.

“Dip?” Jack offered, holding out the open can.

Marty shot a furtive glance in Beth’s direction, and then shook his head. “Thanks. No.”

Jack extended his offer to Beth as well. She declined with a wry grin. He took a pinch and packed it into his lower lip, spitting out the stray flakes. A gun boomed from somewhere deep inside.

“What the hell was that?” Marty asked. He took a step toward the door and plastered his face against the window, cupping it with his hands to eliminate the glare. “Guys! Look!”

Jack opened the door and stuck his head inside. There was no sign of the others. He held a finger to his lips. “Shhhh.”

A second later he yanked the door the rest of the way open. “Something’s wrong. I’m going in,” he said. “Keep an eye on the lot.” Marty grunted his acknowledgment.

The first thing Jack saw was the zombie corpse sprawled on the floor. He noted that it was a clean kill, the head caved in from a frontal assault, gelatinous chunks of brain oozing from a large fissure in the crown. He cocked his head, absorbing the sounds, the feel of the empty store. The gunshot meant something had gone terribly wrong. This was supposed to be a stealth raid.

He heard something. A rhythmic thudding echoed from somewhere in the rear, like someone repeatedly dropping a bag of sand on the ground. “Megan?” he called out. “Pringle?”

The thudding stopped. A second later, it started up again.

“What the..?” Jack took off at a run, choosing the aisle on the far right, directly underneath a line of dust- and grease-caked windows. As he rounded the corner at the rental counter, his legs suddenly flew out from underneath him, sending him sliding into a spinning wire rack of work gloves and safety goggles, knocking it to the floor with an earsplitting crash. He landed hard on the polished concrete, his head bouncing with a resounding
crack
. His flashlight blinked out on impact. He scrambled to get up, but couldn’t get his feet under him. He kept slipping on something.

Blood
. Fighting the urge to vomit, Jack shook his flashlight to restore it. Light flooded out, and he saw the source of the blood. It was Kevin. He was on his back, tucked against the base of a shelf, his throat sliced from ear to ear, the last of his blood draining slowly across the floor.

Zombies don’t use knives
. Jack got to his feet and touched his head, feeling for blood. Finding none of his own, he forged ahead.
Kevin’s dead
.
No use stopping
.
Megan and Mike might still be alive.
As he pushed through the storeroom door, the source of the thumping noise became brutally obvious.

Pringle hovered over Megan’s inert form raining blows down on her face. Peter Woo stood behind him, observing the beating with rapt attention.

Jack leveled his gun at Pringle and yelled, “Stop!” Pringle halted mid-punch and looked at Jack with wild eyes. A manic smile danced at the edges of his mouth. Woo slowly reached for his weapon, but withdrew his hand when Jack cocked the hammer on his pistol. Woo took a step back toward the door leading to the outside of the building.