The Fall: Victim Zero (10 page)

Chapter Nine

They—mostly Alan—convinced him to stay for another day. Paulie, despite her practical reasoning to the contrary, made sure Kell was stuffed full of things to eat. Not that she cooked (Alan's forte), but she mothered him in her own abrasive way.

She also took him out to the garage to help him equip for the trip. Kell tried to cry off, but there were many items she and Alan could do without or had extras of that would be handy for him to have. The backpack she gave him had belonged to Jeremiah, Paulie explained, as had the hunting knife and other items. If Paulie had a problem gifting her dead son's possessions to Kell, she showed no sign.

The backpack was loaded with useful items. The knife, of course, but also a small but well-stocked medical kit, water purification tablets, a tarp, a blanket, fishing line and hooks, enough food to see him through several days, up to a week if he rationed and went hungry often.

The only thing he really needed that they didn't jam into that pack was clothes, but horses didn't wear them, and they were the only ones of a matching size.

Though far from comprehensive, the tools and items they gave him would be enough to survive in the short term if he managed to avoid the undead. As both Paulie and Alan were aware of his plans to drive through the city and there were no firearms to spare, Paulie took it on herself to make sure Kell was armed to some degree or another.

She called it a garage, but the huge room was much more than that. Alan was retired, but until the world had fallen apart had still worked now and then to relieve the boredom. His home housed the clinic area, which was mostly storage since horses couldn't fit into it, as well as a stable and the garage, which was where he treated his patients.

Aside from the usual things, the garage—which was large enough for five vehicles to occupy in a comfortable row, with plenty of room left at the end—also held a wide array of tools and supplies. There were farming implements for the large gardens Alan maintained. Machetes, a pair of axes and several hatchets, spare mower blades, replacement parts for all sorts of machines he used regularly. Kell looked over all of those items and more, eventually settling on one.

Looking at his choice, Paulie raised an eyebrow. “You're joking, right?”

It was a length of aluminum stock about six feet long and three-fourths of an inch thick. Heavier than he'd have thought, it was still easy enough for Kell to carry and swing. “I can use it as a walking stick, and to keep those things at a distance. I don't know how well I'd manage with a blade, and even if I get hold of a gun, I have very little experience with them.”

She cocked her head, considering. “Assuming I agree, it's still not ideal for a closed space. You need something small in case you don't have enough room to swing that thing.” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, haha. I just had two really good ideas.”

She rummaged through a box of tools for a minute before coming up with a small, thin crowbar. She handed it to him, obviously pleased with herself. “That's lighter than most prybars you'll find. It's aluminum, too, which you normally can't find. Usually they're steel because that holds up better when you're tugging on them all the time. But you might use it to break in a door once in a while. As a weapon, it should work out fine.”

She took the aluminum rod from Kell and waved him off. “This thing needs a bit of work. I'll bring it out in a little while. Just don't leave without it.”

Alan kept a large supply of gas at his house, and he spared eight gallons to top off Kell's stolen SUV. He and the horse doctor chatted while they waited for Paulie to appear, and both of them were curious what the hellish racket coming from the garage was.

She came out twenty minutes later carrying the aluminum staff, only now the last six inches of it tapered to a smooth, wicked point. Paulie tossed the simple spear to Kell, who caught it out of the air. Up close he could see the rough patches on the sharpened section, but he whistled in appreciation at his new weapon.

“How'd you do that so fast?” he asked.

Paulie shrugged, though she was clearly pleased with herself. “We've got power, so I just milled it down a little with a carbide bit, then used the metal grinder to smooth it as much as I could. No problem.”

Kell smiled, and surprisingly she smiled back. “Thanks, this is great.”

Then Kell frowned. “Oh, motherfucker,” he said with a pained expression.

Alan leaned forward, looking around for zombies. “What's wrong?”

Kell hefted the long weapon in his hand. “I just realized what I'm holding.”

Paulie tilted her head for a second, then burst out laughing. “Oh, my god, okay. I'm sorry, I know that's not funny, but your face...” She trailed off, trying to hold back her giggles.

Alan looked perplexed. “I don't get it.”

Kell sighed, a long-suffering sound, and gestured at Paulie to explain.

“
See, Alan, he's holding a spear. And he's a big black guy, you know...”

Alan blanched, but didn't laugh. “That's awful.”

Kell smirked. “Yeah, well, the irony is just overwhelming. At least if some old bastard who even knows that particular epithet decides to use it on me, he won't be lying. Maybe I should get a chainsaw or something.”

Alan shook his head, and Paulie apologized. Kell winked at her. “Doesn't bother me. There are worse things out there than people who laugh at racist shit. I'd take a world full of them over what we've got now.”

Paulie sobered, then, and Kell said his goodbyes. He climbed into the truck and rolled the window down a few inches, waving at their receding forms as he drove away.

The drive into the city wasn't as dangerous at first as he expected it to be. The outbreak had spiraled out of control in a matter of hours—though Alan explained to him that the news organizations had vastly downplayed the reality on the ground—and as a consequence the roads were clearer than he expected.

Though there weren't as many abandoned cars blocking the way as Kell would have thought, he did have to turn the heat in the SUV off. Bodies were everywhere, and the smell, even inside a vehicle, was nearly too much for Kell to handle. Try as he might it, was impossible to avoid driving over some of them. The sound of bones cracking beneath his tires was stomach-turning, so Kell tried to find something on the radio.

There were no stations broadcasting.

The CD player was empty, so he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the irregular crunching as he moved through the outskirts of Cincinnati.

“
Good god,” Kell muttered as he got his first look at the desolation. It would have been less shocking if the destruction were total. Seeing familiar places painted with blood and soot and body parts made it difficult for him to concentrate on the road. Kell saw the roadside cafe he and Karen liked to visit on their way back from their picnics, the front door ripped halfway off and the dim silhouettes of stumbling forms inside. There was the small family-owned grocery a few doors down, kept in business by busy travelers who didn't want to fight the lines at big chain stores in the city. The grocery had obviously been looted from floor to ceiling. There wasn't even any glass left in the windows. On Kell's side of the road and a few hundred yards down was the outdoors shop where he'd picked out overpriced camping equipment, gear he'd never used since Karen had come up pregnant just a few days later and all thoughts of leisure drifted into the wind.

Kell stopped and put the truck into reverse, then swung into the shop's parking lot.

The place was closed up and didn't have any obvious damage. Kell glanced around the parking lot and nearby businesses, but didn't see any undead. Alan and Paulie had drilled a mental checklist into him, and from their instruction Kell knew the place wouldn't stay ignored for long. Sound would attract them, especially vehicles, so if he wanted to risk going in and trying to stock up, he had to do it now.

Kell turned off the SUV and slipped the keys in the pocket of his coat. He left the spear in its place, wedged in the passenger seat floorboard and against the leaned-back seat. Kell rested a hand on the heavy knife at his belt and snagged the light crowbar from his pack.

The door of the shop was locked at the handle and with a deadbolt, but the building was old and made of wood. Kell considered knocking out the window and opening the locks by hand, but thought twice when the mental image of a zombie laying out of sight against the door invaded his brain. The idea of having his fingers bitten off when he reached in was not an appealing one.

He had his doubts about the durability of the aluminum tool, but Kell jammed it in the gap anyway and applied steady pressure.

The bar popped out and slipped from his fingers, ringing loudly as it fell to the pavement.

“
Son of a bitch,” Kell spat. “No need to be quiet now.”

One massive foot and three solid kicks later, and he was in.

The shop hadn't been looted, but it looked as though the owner had taken what he wanted. The firearms racks were all empty, as were the ammunition shelves. Kell recalled the general layout of the place, and especially how the sizing for clothes—always a concern for a man of his dimensions—was organized. Working quickly, he grabbed the largest pair of sports bags he could find and threw them open in the middle of the floor.

Heavy jacket. Boots. Another first-aid kit. Tarps. Emergency blankets. Many pairs of pants, most in greens and browns and tree patterns for hunters. Six t-shirts. Rope. Several knives. Bundles of arrows and packages of various heads to screw onto them. Two compound bows and a fistful of spare strings.

Kell was contemplating emptying some of the stuff out of the bags since both were bulging dangerously, when he heard the first hissing moan.

His eyes snapped to the front door, which was on the other side of the shop. He saw zombies through the open portal, only three or four. A hand clamped down on his leg and yanked, and Kell shouted as he danced to keep his balance.

He lashed out on pure instinct, the bent end of his pry bar snapping the wrist of the zombie holding onto him. Kell aimed his second swing, and it was only then that he realized why the thing had been able to sneak up on him.

It was a little boy, no more than six or seven. The snarling hunger on the innocent face slowed Kell down for a split-second. The boy's other hand shot forward to snatch at Kell's pant leg, and with a heave he brought the bar down on the child's skull.

He ran toward the front door, but knew he was too late. The first zombie was already moving across the threshold as he approached it, and he realized the locks were ruined from his hasty entry.

Kell kicked the foremost undead in the midsection with all his might, bending the monster nearly in half as it fell backward through the doorway. Its elbows slammed into the frame and the zombie tumbled into the undead directly behind it, who didn't even try to move out of the way.

The deeply observant part of his mind made a note:
They don't seem to have the instinctive reactions of a living person.

Kell dashed to the nearest clothing rack and hauled it through the door, heaving it with a grunt onto the slowly-recovering group of zombies. He cursed himself for leaving the spear in the truck, but used the confusion of his enemies to his advantage. Carefully he moved around the mass of bodies and coats and expensive t-shirts, delivering sharp blows with mechanical regularity. Some of them took a few swings, making him wish he had something with a point on the end.

A minute later Kell was bent over, breathing hard. His lungs were on fire, his back aching, and his still-healing hand throbbing as if a giant had stepped on it. In the distance he heard telltale moans and saw tiny figures shambling toward him. He opened the back hatch and ferried the bags of equipment to the SUV before slamming it shut. He almost got into the truck before realizing he'd seen something useful but hadn't realized it at the time.

One last trip inside, and Kell was back in the truck in less than a minute, prize in hand.

Not a moment too soon, he made a wide circle in the parking lot and drove through the swarm pouring from the road into the shopping center. Kell drove without thought of where he was headed, his only concern getting away from where he was.

His pulse pounding and breathing ragged, Kell topped a hill and nearly drove into a massive swarm of undead. He was still well outside the city, but the gathering of (former) humanity in front of him seemed endless. Down the road they stretched as far as he could see, so densely packed there was no possibility he could wind his way through them. Swearing, he turned the truck around before the closest zombies, who had turned at his approach, could swarm him.

Kell found the nearest county road and took off on it, creeping slowly and with a watchful eye. Houses in this area were in better shape than what he'd seen on the main roads, but there were no signs of life. The dead wandered here and there, alone or in small groups, but by and large he wasn't bothered.

At first he wasn't sure what he was looking for. It was more of an itch in the back of his mind, some vague idea that slipped away every time he tried to focus on it. That was the way Kell had always achieved his best results, by absorbing information and concepts, working himself to death on them, and then finally relaxing enough to let the magic happen. The idea was rooted in several eastern studies he'd undertaken during his graduate program, and years of practice made him acutely aware of when those moments of inspiration were burgeoning but best left to themselves.