Human Extinction Level Loss (Book 1): Nicole's Odyssey (7 page)

He’s gonna be a Samwhich,
Nicole thought and immediately chastised herself for her mind’s choice of coping mechanisms.

“Come on, Sam!” she yelled. 

Sam unbuckled and jumped from the lift as more of the Dead poured in, blocking their way back to Receiving.  Nicole turned and began to climb the shelves of the racks.  Sam saw what she was doing and quickly followed her.  They reached the top and looked back down.  Thirty feet below them, the Dead clamored. 

Nicole turned on Sam.  “A forklift!?  We could have been using a forklift to move those pallets!?” she screamed. 

Sam was nonplussed.  “We couldn’t.  There were no other employees here.  Safety rules clearly state that during business hours while customers are in the store, aisle blockers and spotters are required when using the power equipment,” Sam said. 

Nicole thought briefly of shoving Sam off the shelf and into the horde below. 

Sam looked down at them.  “What are we going to do now?  I set those bug bombs off, but it would not be good to be in here when it starts to fill up,” he said. 

“As opposed to now?” Nicole quipped.  She turned and looked at the rows of racking behind them. 

Five rows of shelves of equal height led to the receiving area.  Nicole crawled to the opposite edge and looked across the aisle to the next shelf. 

“What do you think that is, six feet?”  she asked.  Sam turned and looked at the width of the aisle. 

“Yeah, why?” he asked. 

“Cause we are going to have to jump for it,” she said. 

Before Sam could respond, Nicole leaped across the aisle.  She landed on the other shelf and rolled, her momentum carrying her over the edge.  Now it was Sam’s turn to stare in horror as he watched Nicole disappear from view.  Precious seconds passed before he saw Nicole throw up her hand and try to climb back up. 

“A little help,” she said as her head appeared. 

Sam readied himself and jumped across.  He landed on the shelf and steadied himself, then helped Nicole up to a sitting position.  The Dead remained where they were, their addled brains unable to work the logic of what was happening above them. 

“Four more to go,” Nicole said as she readied herself for the next jump. 

“Try not to fall this time,” Sam suggested. 

“Words to live by,” Nicole said as she made the leap.  She landed on the next aisle and held on tight.

Three more jumps and they were staring down at the Receiving bay door.  Behind them, the Dead still were squeezing in past the forklift by the droves.  Sounds of the other doors in the store being twisted and pushed open mixed with the cacophony of moans from the Dead.  Sam and Nicole climbed down the shelves and ran to their waiting carts.  Grabbing the small animal repellent, they doused the curtains in the foul smelling liquid, then climbed underneath them and waited.  Nicole could hear the doors caving in and knew they only had seconds left before hundreds of the Dead would rush in to them, rush in to them and away from her car.  Outside the Receiving Bay door, just inches away from Sam and Nicole, the Dead pounded in impatient fury.  Nicole reached over and unscrewed the caps off two five-gallon gas cans.  When Sam had said he was going to set up the bug bombs, she had agreed.  It was the only way he could get him to help her.  Sam had taken precious time setting up bug bombs along the floor.  It was a good plan, he had said.  Once all the bugs were in the store and the bombs set off, they would die.  Clean up would be a hassle, but then it would be back to business.  She had agreed to the bug bombs to appease Sam’s delusion.  Mostly though, she agreed because the insecticide spraying from the cans was highly flammable.  She placed the butane lighter on the cart between her knees.  On the cart in front of hers, Sam waited for the signal.  He had his ax handle he would use to reach out and open the receiving bay door.  A tremendous crash from the front of the store was met almost simultaneously with a crash from the other set of doors by the greenhouse area.  The glass doors caved in and the Dead rushed forward. 

“Now, Sam!” Nicole screamed. 

Sam stuck his ax handle out of the front of the cart and pushed the
Open
button on the bay door.  He withdrew the ax handle back under the curtains and waited.  Sam and Nicole remained still under the curtains as the Dead surged in.  The first wave rushed past, knocking and bumping the carts.  The Dead from all sides surged into the breaches around the store, searching for the meal they sensed was there.  Under her curtain, Nicole fought back the urge to cry and waited for the bulk of the Dead to pass them.  She was about to give the signal to Sam, when three of the Dead became focused on her cart.  She could see their shadows through the curtain.  They circled the cart.  Leaning in, they sniffed at it.  Nicole could hear their wheezing and she almost wretched from the smell.  She could hear the Dead now moving throughout the store.  It would only be minutes before they discovered them.  Even if by sheer accident, she knew they would be discovered eventually.  Their window of opportunity was small and closing.  The sights, sounds, and smells of what was occurring threatened to overwhelm Nicole.  Her breathing lost its rhythm and she began to hyperventilate.  She broke out into a cold sweat and tunnel vision set in, as her mind screamed for her to get out of there, to run as fast as she could.  She grasped at the curtains and was about to rip them away when another voice screamed in her head, louder than her panic, more commanding than her fear.  It was not the voice she heard at Friendly’s or her own voice, but the voice of her father.  As a child, she had watched her father drill recruits in survival training.  It had perhaps been only once and she had not recalled it since, but now his voice cut through the fear and calmed her.

DECIDE TO SURVIVE!  SIZE UP YOUR SITUATION! USE ALL YOUR SENSES! VANQUISH FEAR AND PANIC! IMPROVISE AND IMPROVE! VALUE LIVING! ACT LIKE THE NATIVES! LIVE BY YOUR TRAINING!

A resolve formed in her mind and her nerves steadied. Nicole let go of the curtain.  She slowed her breathing and focused on a spot in front of her.  After what seemed an eternity, the three Dead lost interest and shuffled on deeper into the store.  She would survive.  She knew what she had to do.

“Now, Sam.  Now,” Nicole whispered.  She peeked through the curtain and watched Sam begin to push out through the bay door. 

Nicole tipped over one of the gas cans, spilling the fuel in a trail behind her, as she began to push.

They had gone fifty yards.  Nicole’s arms burned and she struggled to keep her breath as she and Sam rounded the first corner.  The chain link fence that had formed the outer perimeter of the greenhouse area lay trampled.  Many of the Dead who lined the sidewall had followed the others storming through the back and front.  Several still struggled against the wall trying to get in, blind to everything but their hunger.  Their gore coated the length of the wall, a finger-painted mural of viscera.  The wall above their hellish clamoring artwork remained untouched, a fit commentary.  There were only the Dead, the Living and a thin line between them.  Still on the living side of that line, Sam and Nicole pushed past, inch by precious inch.  Nicole peered out through a slit in the curtains and tried to keep her cart moving in a straight line.  The way was long and tough enough already, there was no use in making it longer by meandering.  She could not see out the sides, and for that she was grateful.  Was it more of her father’s words that urged her to focus on the task at hand?  She did not know, but was happy to oblige. 

When they were half way, Nicole tipped her second gas can, careful not to let the empty one fall out and alert the remaining Dead to their presence.  Her breath was ragged and the pain in her arms and chest tore at her, a battle cry to stop and rest.  Ignoring their calls, she quickened her pace.  They went unnoticed by the Dead as they rounded the front corner.  Nicole stared down the home stretch leading to her car.  The GTO was clear, but twenty Dead still milled about the front walls.  Nicole turned and watched the last of the gas leak from the can.  She stopped her cart and reached down for the lighter.  Frantically, she clicked it several times.  Nothing.  Nicole stopped and took a breath. 

“Relax, Nicole.  You have all the time in the world.  Improvise and Improve,” she reminded herself. 

Gripping the lighter, she slowly pressed down on the button.  A two-inch flame sprang up.  Nicole leaned back and lit the trail of gas behind her.  The fuel combusted and a line of fire raced away.  Just as she was about to turn around, one of the Dead shuffled across the gas trail and stopped, blocking the flame’s progress.  The fire raced to the Shuffler and lit it up.  A new smell filled the air as fire consumed rotting flesh.  Black smoke rose and stained the sky above as it stumbled.  It could feel no pain and hardly seemed to notice that its body, once ravished by decomposition, was now melting away under the flames.  The inferno did its work as what was left of tendon, muscle, and bone succumbed.  Nicole had hoped that in getting away she could destroy this horde, both for the distraction it would cause and the deadly threat it would eliminate.  The Shuffler stepped away from the gas trail and fell to its knees.  Nicole watched, disappointment nipping at the edges of her emotion.  Just as she gave up hope that she would be able to destroy the horde, the Shuffler fell backward, its flaming hand touched the gas trail, and the stream of fire resumed its course.  Nicole breathed a sigh of relief and then turned.  She saw that Sam had already moved around to the passenger side.  He tossed in his ax handle and climbed inside.  Feeling like her arms were going to snap off, she ignored the pain and began pushing again.  Nicole cursed the agony in her arms and chest.  The Dead felt no such pain, would not stop or slow down because of it.  Fully aflame, the Dead behind her only fell when all ability to move was seared to ash.  As Nicole strained against her own body, she wondered if all her efforts were only prolonging the time until the day came when her strength or will would fail, and she would go down in a gnashing frenzy.  It made her angry and her anger spurred her on.  Maybe there would be such a time, she thought, but it wasn’t going to be this time. 

Nicole approached the GTO, just as Sam opened the driver side door for her.  She quietly rolled out from under the curtain, climbed behind the wheel, and eased her door closed.  Nicole inserted the keys into the ignition and waited.  Sam stared at the store. 

“It’ll take a couple of hours to work, but when we come back all we need to do is clean up,” Sam said. 

Nicole stared out through her windshield.  “That’s right, Sam,” she said.  The first explosions came from the rear of the store as the fire met the air over-saturated with insect repellent in Receiving. 

As soon as she heard the sound, Nicole cranked the engine on the GTO and dropped it in reverse. 

“What was that?!” Sam exclaimed. 

“Just hold on, Sam,” Nicole replied as she hit the gas.  The car flew backwards in a cloud of smoke as secondary explosions rocked the store. 

Nicole cranked the wheel in a whiplash 180 and slammed the GTO into drive.  Tires screamed as she fishtailed out of the parking lot and down the road towards Fair Valley.  Through the back window of the GTO, Sam stared at his store, now burning and exploding. 

“Something went wrong!  We have to go back!” he cried. 

Nicole stared down the two-lane in front of her.  “There is no going back, Sam,” she said.  The GTO approached the redline as Fair Valley loomed in the distance.

Eleven

Almost since the dawn of time, humanity has pondered the great question.  Arriving at answers that suit them, many consider the matter resolved.  Others, less than satisfied continue to debate it.  Philosophers and Spiritualists throughout the ages have made ample use of their time catechizing orthodoxy concerning the implications regarding it.  Whole sects have formed, taking one view or another concerning those implications.  Many have died defending their views, while still others have perished advancing them.  The question is sublime in its simplicity, convoluted in its exposition.

 
Are events that transpire part of a determined plan or are they random? 

Nicole Bennett thought nothing of leaving Pinelli’s and walking across the street to Pete Maxwell’s dealership.  Had she been asked, her response would have indicated nothing more than a choice rooted in free will and aesthetic preference.  Nicole was not a philosopher in the strictest sense.  Pete Maxwell and Alfonse Pinelli ran dealerships in extreme proximity to each other.  This fact did not weigh on Pete Maxwell’s mind in the least.  He was confident that people who bought his cars had no interest whatsoever in the foreign jobs that Alfonse Pinelli sold.  He was equally sure that no one considering an automobile from Pinelli’s was a customer he was going to be able to steal away.  Pete Maxwell, on some level, believed in an ordered plan.  He believed that God in his infinite wisdom had created people in a great diversity.  Some would like his cars, others would not.  Had Pete Maxwell been asked about his views on the great question, he might have indicated that he was a firm believer in treating people the way you wanted to be treated, and kindness pays you back in spades.

Had Alfonse Pinelli been asked the great question, he would have told you it was meant to be for him to extend his foreign car empire to all land bordering his.  According to Alfonse Pinelli, there was not a great diversity of people brought into existence by a benevolent creator.  There were only those who could appreciate his cars, and more importantly, afford them, and there were those who could not.  These others were country trash, hicks , and riff-raff in his mind.  He saw Pete Maxwell’s dealership as a blight, and an impediment to his expansion.  He viewed both Pete and his customers with disdain that bordered on harassment.  He would harangue Pete from across the street with verbal disparagements as to his lineage.  When new shipments of cars would arrive, Pinelli would park his trucks in such a way as to block access to Maxwell’s lot.  Pinelli had once offered to purchase Maxwell’s dealership, offering an insultingly low amount for it.  Through it all, Pete Maxwell would only smile and let it slide.  Even when urged by his customers and employees alike to go over and give Alfonse Pinelli some two-fisted Southern hospitality, Pete “Petey” Maxwell would only grin and espouse his “live and let live” philosophy.