Zomb-Pocalypse (11 page)
Fanning out, they check room by room and find a couple zombies locked in offices, one is particularly bad and blood covers almost every surface of the desk and scattered paperwork.
There is another zombie trapped inside a floor model of an Expedition. It has gummed up the leather pretty badly with its gory, black blood. The guy was probably bitten when all hell broke loose and hid in the back of the SUV, only to turn into the same monster he was hiding from. The soldiers quickly dispatch them and leave without much more than a final goodbye from Sargent Regg.
Then, Ryan and I are alone in the silence. The air is permeated with the overly ripe odor of the dead. We stand still for a minute, getting our bearings.
“Which one should we take?” I ask.
Ryan grimaces, pointing to the zombified Expedition on the showroom floor.
“Not that one.”
We walk around the lot and examine a couple of the vehicles. I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of zombies, but like the soldiers said, the town must be mostly cleaned out because I don’t see anything—dead or otherwise.
Ryan pauses for several minutes to ogle a brand new Mustang. It’s painted lime green with white racing stripes.
“Do you want that one?” I ask when he continues to stare at it.
He looks torn. “No,” he says firmly, at last. “The roads will be clogged, so we’ll have to do a fair bit of off-roading. This thing is beautiful, but it would get stuck in the first ditch we tried to cross.”
He looks around at the rows of shiny pickup trucks. “That’s what we need,” he says, pointing.
I have to agree that the four-door truck is a much better option.
“Let’s go find the keys,” he suggests. Together we run back inside and find a huge board that holds all the keys on little hooks. It seems to take forever as we pick over each key, reading the little white tags on them until, finally, I find one that says F150- black.
“How about this one?” I ask, looking up for the first time and see that Ryan already has a handful of keys in his hand.
“Let’s go take a look,” he says, and we run back outside. I notice that we have already fallen back into the habit of running instead of walking.
I click the unlock button on my set of keys and a truck halfway down the line beeps. It’s only a small, two-door, pickup. It doesn’t even have four wheel drive. I’m disappointed, but glad that Ryan thought to bring more than one set of keys.
The next key in his hand beeps a silver pickup. It does have four doors and is fine, but Ryan insists on beeping the rest anyway. He crows in delight when one of them beeps a black F 150 with leather seats and shiny silver rims.
“This is the one,” he tells me as he jogs over and hefts the heavy canvas duffle bag into the back seat. I roll my eyes—boys and their toys. The truck fires right up, and I’m thrilled to see that it’s more than half full of gasoline. There are already fifty miles on the truck, and Ryan tells me they’re probably from people test driving it.
We leave the keys to the other trucks inside the matching vehicles, in case someone comes through and needs a car in a hurry. Then, we are finally on our way, peeling out of the parking lot. My heart slams in terrified excitement, we are going to look for my Mom and Dad!
“What’s the plan?” I ask Ryan, easily slipping back into the previous routine where Ryan is the one in charge. This time, he doesn’t let me get away with it though.
“What do you think?” he challenges back, and I blink in surprise.
“What?” I can’t help asking.
“You are the one that wants to go find your parents. I came with you because I like you, and I want to help, but I can’t be your babysitter anymore,” his words sting. “We have to be partners. I have to know that if something happens to me, that you have a shot at surviving on your own,” He finishes.
Just like that, the sting is taken from his words and I feel all warm and mushy towards him. I push my girl hormones aside and think hard about our survival. “We need to gather some food and a map,” I guess.
Ryan nods. “You should also open up that bag and take inventory of the weapons,” he suggests.
I nod, “Good idea.” I undo my seat belt, climb into the backseat, and open the bag. I hold up the guns that we arrived with at Camp Freedom.
Ryan nods in the rear view mirror. “Nine millimetre,” he confirms.
“Your knife,” I say, passing it over to him.
He takes it and then holds his hand out for the gun too.
“It looks like they threw in a bunch of extra ammo and another knife,” I tell him, carefully threading a leather case through my own belt loops. I grab an extra box of ammo and climb back into the front seat.
We are cruising down Main Street, which looks deceptively empty of all the craziness, except for the large blood stains that dot the street and a couple smashed storefront windows. We see the military hummers in front of the grocery store and pull in.
“Nice wheels,” Regg calls out, and Ryan gives him a high five.
We go to enter the store, but the soldier who’d been driving the Hummer holds up his arm and blocks us, “These supplies are for the camp.”
I stop and stare back at Sargent Regg. The Sargent’s lips pucker down into a frown as he thinks. “They were at the camp, let’s just let them grab enough supplies for tonight, and they can find the rest somewhere else,” Regg suggests after a minute, coming forward to stand between us and the other soldier.
The driver grumbles, but drops his arm.
“Just a couple things,” Regg warns us.
We nod our thanks as we quickly step into the store. A lot of the shelves have been cleaned out, and a lot of the perishables are already rotten. The smell of rotten meat and decomposing vegetables hits us as soon as we walk in, but compared to the zombies, it doesn’t smell that bad.
I walk through the fruit aisle and find a bin of apples that look a little withered, but not too bad. So, I quickly shove six of them into my pack. Ryan finds a box of granola bars, and I pick up a couple bottled drinks and a pack of gum.
“All set?” Regg asks, coming up silently behind us and handing me a map.
“We sure are,” I tell him with a smile. “Thanks,” I say. I was going to walk away, but then on a whim I walk up and hug him instead. The man has intervened on our behalf more than once today, with the other soldiers, and it’s really saved our bacon.
I pull away when a couple of the soldiers started whistling and making cat calls. Regg has a huge grin on his face as I step back and tuck the map into my pocket. “I’ll see you around,” I say casually as I turn and walk out the door without waiting to see if Ryan will follow me.
Ryan does follow me. He gets in the truck and fires it up with a scowl on his face.
“Next stop, New York City.”
New York City is not our next stop. Ryan and I consult the map until we find a road that runs parallel to the interstate, and we hop on it. If we can stay close to the main road, then it will cut down the time of our trip considerably. It’s more dangerous being this close to the interstate, considering all the zombies that have wandered away from the car wrecks, but we decide to risk it for a bit anyway and see how it goes.
Ryan knows how urgently I need to get to New York, and I really appreciate him coming with me. I don’t know what I would have done on my own.
We drive in silence for hours, and despite the life-threatening danger, I’m bored out of my mind. I will freely admit that I am a child of technology, and, in between all the running for my life and bashing zombies, it’s been a huge adjustment. I don’t know how many times I’ve reached over to turn on the radio, without thinking, only to find nothing but static.
Ryan glances over at me every time I do this, but thankfully he doesn’t comment. He isn’t very talkative either, and I can’t help but feel that he’s still pissed at me for hugging the Sargent. I roll my eyes as I stare out the window at the bleak landscape around us.
Walking corpses dot the fields and roam around, staring mindlessly at the ground until we pass by. I watch as their decaying heads snap up and scent the air. It causes a sick feeling to worm its way into my belly.
Ryan eases off the gas pedal, and I turn quickly from the passenger window to see what terrible thing has befallen us now. Ryan’s gaze is intently fixed on a car up ahead that has veered off the road and crashed into a telephone pole. Four zombies claw viciously at it, trying to get in.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a whisper, even though I know the zombies probably can’t hear me.
“I think someone’s in that car,” Ryan says after a minute of intense staring, and I gape at him.
“How do you know?” I can’t help asking. I don’t mean to be argumentative, but I don’t want to be the kind of girl that blindly follows anymore either.
Ryan points to the zombies, “Because they want in so bad.”
That makes sense to me, I haven’t seen the zombies care about anything other than living, breathing humans so far. “We need to help them,” I say.
Ryan nods without hesitation.
I can see that the back window is broken out and a zombie has already managed to shove half his torso through the jagged hole. I look away from the black sludge that’s leaking down the trunk of the car. “We don’t have much time,” I press.
Ryan scans the surrounding area, “I don’t think we should risk shooting guns, we are too close to the interstate and it will bring more of them.”
I feel a sense of dread; I know what he’s going to say.
“If we’re quiet, they might stay distracted, and we can sneak up on them.”
I nod in resignation as he shuts off the truck and hands me my fire poker.
“Try stabbing this time, instead of beating,” he tells me.
I feel the granola bar that I ate for lunch trying to make a comeback. Our feet fall silently on the paved road as we approach the car. Ryan gives me a meaningful nod and then fans out away from me, using the large knife in his hand to spear the first zombie through the base of its skull. The zombie’s knees buckle, and he falls to the ground; the momentum pulls the knife clean from his rotting skull.
I approach the closest zombie and aim carefully for the back of his head. Using two hands, I attempt to ram the poker like a spear. It bounces off the zombie’s hard skull and lodges into the zed’s neck instead. The zombie twitches like a bolt of lightning runs through him and then falls to the ground. He doesn’t seem to be dead because his eyes are blinking up at me, but he also isn’t moving so I am pretty sure that I’ve managed to sever his spinal cord—it’s good to know that works.
The third zombie hears me coming and turns towards me, snapping its teeth. I gasp when I see that it isn’t a male zombie or even a woman, but a teenage girl who looks close to my age, maybe even a little younger than me. Forgetting what Ryan told me about stabbing, I start swinging.
I land multiple blows to the side of her face and temple before she crumples to the ground. Sweat is pouring off my body, and my nerves are on edge as I look wildly around for more attackers.
There are no imminent threats. I see a few zombies further out in the field, slowly lumbering towards us. I really hope that we are long gone before they show up. Ryan is wiping his knife on the shirt of his last kill, and he gives me a small smile of victory. I try to return it, but can’t.
Together we turn towards the vehicle, and I gird my stomach for what we might find. A woman is unconscious in the front seat. With the airbag deployed and her head resting on it like a pillow, she almost looks like she’s taking a nap. Blood leaks from her nose and mouth, and Ryan throws open the door and quickly checks her throat for a pulse.
“She’s alive!” he shouts victoriously, and I fight the urge to shush his exuberance.
Ryan uses his knife to cut her from the seat belt, and then I see it—the problem I have been waiting for. The dash is caved in a bit. It looks like her legs are trapped. Ryan sees it too, and his smile fades.
“Come grab her under her arms, and I will try to free her legs.” I look around for any approaching zombies before I feel comfortable doing as he says.
With her seatbelt unfastened, Ryan has pulled her torso from the car. I grab under her arms. She appears to be in her mid-forties and doesn’t look heavy, but I still grunt and stagger when Ryan releases her entire weight into my arms.
“Try not to shake her too much,” Ryan instructs as he reaches in past her lap and starts fiddling with the dash. He uses his knife to pry the plastic apart.
I hear a lot of crunching and breaking, and I busy myself scanning the area for zeds. I’m a sweaty, disgusting mess, my back aches, and I’m sweating so badly that my fingers are becoming slippery against the woman’s arm. I readjust my hold, trying to get a better grip just as Ryan frees the woman without any warning. I fall backwards with the unconscious woman on top of me.
“Ryan!” I cry out in panic. The last time I was squished like this, a flesh-eating zombie had been on top, trying to eat me. It brings back painful, terrifying memories.
Ryan’s sweaty face appears above mine. “Are you hurt?” he asks me.
I’m not actually hurt, just on the edge of a full-blown panic attack, so I shake my head.
“Okay,” Ryan gives me a sheepish look that I instantly don’t like. “Stay like that for one second then, I’m going to run over and get the truck. The less we move her, the better.”
Warning bells and full blown terror start flashing through my brain. “What…no!” I shout, but he’s already taken off at a run towards where we left the truck a hundred feet back. My heart is pounding, and it’s all I can do not to shake this woman off of me and scramble to get back on my feet.
My eyes bulge as I look desperately around, trying to see if any zombies are approaching to rip the meat from my bones while I’m trapped under this unconscious person.
I hear the truck start up, and, a minute later, it’s parking really close to my head. I still can’t manage to take a breath until Ryan lifts the woman off of me. He has a t-shirt in his hands that he’s pulled from a bag of clothes that Camp Freedom sent along with us. He kneels down and ties the shirt tightly over a bleeding wound on the lady’s upper thigh.
“Help me get her feet, we’ll have to put her in the back,” Ryan urges me.
I’m so winded that I can barely speak, never mind lift this woman, but somehow I do. Ryan shakes his head when I go to slide her on the seat, and instead we lay her flat on the floor in the rear cab.
“We don’t want her to fall off the seat while I’m driving and get hurt worse,” Ryan mutters.
I nod, too tired to do anything else.
When we’ve finished up, I climb into the passenger seat. Only then does my racing pulse begin to slow down a little.
Ryan runs over to the car and digs around for anything good we can salvage. He grabs the woman’s purse and a gun from the glove box before popping the trunk and pulling a couple suitcases from inside. He throws them into the box of our truck before climbing in and shifting the truck into drive.
“She’s bleeding pretty heavily.” Ryan’s words startle me. I’d been off in my own little world, trying to steady my breathing and fight back the panic attack.
“Yeah.” I say dumbly, not really sure what he wants me to say. It’s not like we can take her to the hospital. A small piece of myself is horrified at how uncaring I have already become.
“We’ll need first aid supplies.”
My heart stutters, and I hope that he isn’t saying what I think he is. I turn to look at him, and he has that look on his face—stubborn determination.
“Ryan—” I begin to say, but he interrupts.
“There was a town on the map.” He reaches over me, pulls the map from the glove box, and quickly scans it while he drives.
“Ryan!” I shout to be heard over the crazy ideas that are floating around in his head. Finally, he looks at me.
“We can’t go into a town.” He looks disappointed and, despite knowing that I am right, I feel a twinge of guilt.
“She’ll die without our help,” he points out.
Tears well up in my eyes as I force myself to become the bad guy and say it, “She might die anyway.”
Ryan looks at me like I’ve just taken a knife out and stabbed the woman myself. “I know this is a hard, horrible new world, but Jane, we don’t have to be that way.”
We pass a sign: The Town of Hope Welcome’s you, One Mile, Population Seven Hundred and Seventy Three. Then, I realize that Ryan is taking us there anyway.
I want to scream and jump out of the truck and say good riddance to him and the dying woman, but I don’t. I sit in the seat and turn a glaring eye to Ryan.
“Do you want out?” he asks after a minute, as though he can read my dark thoughts.
Given the chance, I truly think about it, but in the end I shake my head, “No.”
“This is a small town. We will find a pharmacy and be in and out in less than ten minutes.”
I huff in annoyance, and Ryan turns to me with a mean look on his face.
“What?” he demands.
I think about saying nothing, but then I decide to throw it in his face. “It’s a small town, sure...,” I shout at him, “only full of seven hundred and seventy three zombies!”
The look on his face is hard to describe, but he looks like I just slapped him. “They can’t all be zombies. Some must have escaped, or still be alive.” Ryan looks sad. “Besides, not all the zombies will be out wandering the street, lots of people probably died in their homes and hopefully are still there.” I can tell that he’s given this a lot of thought, at least as much thought as a person can manage in ten minutes, but I’m mad too and don’t want to admit he could have a point.
We pull into town. Despite the cheery sign of welcome, it’s a ghost town.
I can see a few zombies shambling around and want to throw up. Since I fled my hometown of Blairsville, this is the first time I’ve put myself in danger by venturing into a populated area.
Some of the houses are boarded up, others have broken windows, and, in some, I can see zombies staring out at us. The glass is all gummed up from their decaying flesh rubbing against it. I can agree with Ryan on one point, the town is pretty small—only a few businesses dot Main Street.
We pass a small grocery store, a post office, and a library before we finally see the pharmacy. Ryan pulls in the parking spot out front and undoes his seat belt. I can see him scanning the area, and I do the same. Ryan grabs his gun and a large hunting knife and throws several extra rounds into his pockets before looking me right in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” he surprises me when he speaks, and I blink, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry that I left you with that woman on top of you, and I’m sorry that I took you here without your consent…” He pauses and looks deep in to my eyes. “Will you forgive me? I don’t want to do this if we’re mad at each other.”
A tear leaks down my cheek and I nod, “I’m sorry too. I know it’s the right thing to do, to try and save her.” My admission causes a big weight to lift off my chest.
Ryan smiles at me as he leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “That’s my girl,” he says, causing my heart to give a funny little skip. “Are you ready to go?” he asks.
I nod, only a little grudgingly this time.
Ryan takes a minute to check the woman in the back, giving me the thumbs up sign before he turns off the ignition and throws the door open. With only a few misgivings, I follow him.
My feet hit the pavement with a quiet thud, and I jog to keep pace with Ryan. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, but I take a few deep breaths to steady them. I don’t want to drop my fire poker and have it clatter to the ground, bringing every zombie in the area to investigate.
We only parked a couple feet from the pharmacy, so we reach it relatively quickly. Ryan hesitates when he sees that a hole has been knocked in the glass door—just wide enough for someone to get their arm inside and unlock it.
Ryan pushes hesitantly against the door. As it opens, a horrible chime rings out to announce our arrival. We rush inside and stand at the ready to ward off any attacks.