Resurrection (Apocalypse Chronicles Part II) (14 page)

By the time we reached the store’s overhang, he was midway across the rope, his weight bowing the line dangerously low, his backpack dragging him even farther toward the ground. As my view became blocked, I froze in place, but Doc caught my arm while he fled by and yanked me the rest of the way.

I vaguely noticed the door opening and everyone reaching safety. But nothing could stop me from getting to Harrison, not even the cluster of people dressed in umpire uniforms gathered at its entrance holding various shovels. I didn’t address them until I was in the center of the store.

“ROOF ACCESS?” I screamed, slinging my backpack to my feet.

Christina, who apparently guessed where I was planning to go, stopped at the head of an aisle and pointed a finger to the left, an impatient expression conveying to me that I shouldn’t be trying to do this on my own. I followed her to the storeroom, which had been converted into a crude kitchen, and up a ladder to a square hole in the ceiling painted with the words “Authorized Persons Only”.

Christina was intelligent, so she allowed me to go up first. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have pulled her off if she had tried to take the lead. No one could move fast enough, not even me.

With an image of Harrison falling, flailing into a crowd of hungry sick people replaying in my mind, I became narrowly focused on getting to him. Nothing could stop me, not even the lock on the access handle.

“The key, Christina!”

“I’ve got it!” she shouted back.

But as I reached the end of the ladder, the access hatch flew away. Blinding light burst in. Then a hand came around my wrist and I was lifted up and through the hole.

Suddenly, Harrison’s scent surrounded me, that beautiful, enticing earthiness that made me feel so safe. I didn’t trust myself at first, wondering how this could be right, how he could have made it across, but the weight of his arms encircled me, forming a shield against anyone who might be close by. There was no one, thankfully, but us.

“You made it…,” he whispered into my ear. “You made it. Oh my gosh, you made it.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” I said, my voice muffled in his shoulder.

“I didn’t know…That second pod in the field…I just didn’t know…”

“I saw them coming.”

“I couldn’t see any other way to get you to safety,” he said, his head shaking back and forth, his cheek rubbing against mine.

He exhaled and his body, which had been so rigid before, settled into my curves. We stayed this way, our arms wrapped around the other for an immeasurable length of time, unable to pull away. Only when my mind recalled the horror of watching him walk alone into a crowd of Infected did I step back.

“I understand why you did what you did, but you have to stop sacrificing yourself. You trained us to protect
you
, remember?”

At that, his body stiffened again, and instinct told me that there was something he wasn’t telling me.

He turned his head and stared into the distance.

“So let us,” I insisted. “Let us do what you taught us to do.”

A look of irony crossed his face before a reserved expression returned. “I can’t promise that.”

My shoulders fell in defeat but I wasn’t willing to give up that easily.

“It’s not ego,” I stated.

“What isn’t?” He looked at me, inquisitive now.

“Your compulsion to face the Infected alone. It’s not ego. You don’t have that character flaw.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

“And it’s not blind insanity or a suicide attempt. It couldn’t be because you always fight. So what is it? Why are you doing it?”

When he did answer me, it wasn’t what I expected, and made me speechless. “Yes, I do fight…to get back to you.”

I understood then, his reasoning for endangering himself, and it brought goose bumps to my arms. The reason was me. He would do anything he could to protect me. And he couldn’t promise to stop because he wouldn’t stop. He didn’t care about being heralded as a fighter or controlling how and when he would die or being called a martyr. He hadn’t lost his will to live. His mission was clear and his strategy wouldn’t change. He would continue to risk his own life to make certain I was safe.

“You underestimate how I feel about you,” he said, his voice low and deep with emotion. “And when you are in danger, regardless of the threat I might face, always and without fail, I will risk myself to ensure you survive.”

“Do not jeopardize yourself for me again, Harrison.”

He looked up and fixed his eyes on the horizon, this time smiling sardonically at his thought. When he voiced it to me, his arms fell away, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, and he began the climb down the access hatch. “You forget, Kennedy,” he said, “I am the jeopardy.”

I wanted to groan, to scream at him, to make him understand that wasn’t true. His perception, that concrete belief he was an ever-present danger, was simply untrue. If I detected the slightest possibility his conviction would waver, I would have groaned or screamed and made him understand. But like everything about Harrison, he was steadfast. I knew this as he descended the ladder and I remained silently opposed from above.

We didn’t address each other when we landed inside and our unspoken but mutually agreed upon separation continued as we walked to the front of the store. Christina was already there, holding a conversation with a man who seemed to be chastising her. His size alone was intimidating, standing like a sequoia wrapped in a biker’s leather vest in the middle of the aisle, but his expressions weren’t too reassuring either.

Doc, Mei and Beverly saw us approaching and met us at the Express Lane. Their eyebrows were lifted in an uncertain manner.

Once they reached us, they swung around and crossed their arms over their chests as if in waiting. “Apparently,” Mei said, “Christina didn’t tell anyone she was leaving.”

“And Lou doesn’t like that all too much,” Beverly continued, blithely.

“Think those will hold?” Doc asked, tipping his chin at the front windows where crates, boxes, and furniture had been restacked to form a barrier.

Harrison’s immediate response was not comforting, but it was honest…and correct. “No.”

“We going to do something about it?” Doc asked.

Harrison seemed surprised that the question was directed at him but with the rest of us waiting for an answer, he deliberated over it, his eyes sweeping the entire front of the store. Multiple gaps were detectable even from where we stood.

Realizing they left us vulnerable, like sheep in a pen, a true farm-to-table experience for those outside, Doc urged, “Should we reinforce it?”

“No,” Harrison said reflectively. “We’re going to leave.”

“Now?” Mei gawked.

“Soon.”

“Leave?” Beverly asked, her tone rich with cynicism. “But we’ve only just arrived and they’re ever so welcoming.”

The remaining survivors wandered between each other but it was obvious they were unwilling to go far with strangers in their home. They watched us with keen interest and wary skepticism.

“These people care about their neighbors,” Harrison observed.

“Welcome to the Midwest,” Beverly mumbled. “The land of apple pie and firearms…”

When Lou was done venting his anger, Christina was liberated to rejoin us, and I got the impression he was a guardian with no real authority over her. The fact that she looked defiant rather than sheepish over the haranguing was convincing enough.

She motioned for us to follow her. While we did, Harrison fell back, keeping his distance but remaining within eyesight. I could feel his focus on me, my skin almost hot across my back, so I responded by slowing my pace and matching his steps. He wouldn’t look my way but I got the distinct sense he wanted to.

“The bathrooms are in the stockroom,” Christina advised as we walked, “next to the kitchen we’ve set up. We sleep in the furniture department and sporting goods. There are no beds left so you’ll have to use your sleeping bags.” She paused to throw a look at Harrison. “You didn’t bother to pack one,” she noted, “but you can use one of the blowup mattresses.”

I snuck a glance at Harrison, who seemed unperturbed by her acknowledgment of his sleeping condition, or lack of.

Christina finished her tour without throwing another verbal barb in Harrison’s direction and deposited us with Lou. As she left toward the home goods department, he stood with fists on his hips, assessing us.

“Christina said you came to rescue us.”

“Yes, sir,” Harrison replied, his deep voice delivering the answer with sturdy resolution.

Lou nodded slowly, doubtfully. “Now that you’re inside, it makes me wonder who is rescuing who…”

Despite the insult, I understood him. Christina had mentioned that food was scarce and when resources are tight so is everyone’s attitude.

Lou targeted a stern stare at Harrison.

“Where you kids from?”

Harrison recounted what had happened to us since the outbreak, while Lou continued his observations of us. When Harrison was finished, Lou gave a suspicious survey of our weapons and tipped his head at Beverly’s metal rod. “What’s that?”

“My sword,” she said, protectively pulling it behind her.

“I’m not going to take it from you.”

“No,” she replied, firmly. “You’re not.”

One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk but it fell away quickly. “Outsiders and weapons don’t mix well around here,” he commented. “You can keep that piece of metal but I’m going to need your rifle and them knives you’ve got around your belt, son.”

As Doc’s chest rose in defiance, Harrison made an attempt to step in front of me, to protect me if Lou wanted to exercise his apparently self-designated authority. He made it no farther than my hip before a scream stopped him.

Another scream came shortly after.

A clatter and the sound of wrestling followed.

A woman screeched, “Skin Eaters!”

And then it was all out panic.

CHAPTER 8

T
HE CHAOS SEEMED TO BE CENTERED
in the back of the store and Lou spun around quickly to face it. He took off a second later, his arthritic knee struggling to keep up with the rest of his body.

Someone shouted “Auto” and that’s where we headed, passing Lou before he even reached the next display. I glanced behind me, where I saw two motions at once: bodies fleeing and bodies following. The ones directly at my heels were Doc, Mei, and Beverly, each with the same expression—terrified but determined.

The Infected were coming through the metal rollup doors, squeezing in one by one, shedding limbs and pieces of skin on entering. There were five inside by the time we arrived, stumbling rapidly through the darkened garage, their mouths open, bearing the teeth they would be using to eat us. Their heads snapped from one side to the other as their mutated brain determined their closest target. I was prepared for them to aim for me. I was human, uninfected. I was ready for it. What I didn’t expect was to watch the majority of them go after Harrison. Almost immediately, three of them lunged for him. He met them head on, bending forward, wrapping his arms around their bodies and taking them to the ground.

My rifle’s safety had gone off with the first scream, and I’d brought it to my shoulder before the garage ever came into sight. Now all I needed was to aim and fire, but the damn Infected wrestling with Harrison made it impossible to hit them without hurting him.

“The door, Kennedy!” Harrison managed to call out, his voice strained by the struggle.

More Infected were shoving their way in.

Harrison tossed off one of the Infected, who stumbled backward until hitting the wall. I took the shot and his head exploded.

Screams came from inside the store at the sound of my gunfire.

I swung the rifle to the Infected breaking in and pulled the trigger. Their bodies jerked back, hitting others behind them before their knees buckled and they collapsed.

Harrison had snapped the neck of the second Infected on him, leaving one last, voracious attacker. She was writhing on top of him, snarling, so intent on her opportunity to take a bite of him that she never saw my boot coming. It landed on the side of her head, just above her missing ear, and sank in. I wasn’t prepared for the spongy result and nearly lost my balance but righted myself and refocused on planting bullets in the brains of the Infected streaming in. Gradually, as they began to pile up and form a natural barrier where the opening had been, fewer Infected made their way inside. That left the seven ravenous attackers on our side of the barricade.

Lou was defending himself against an Infected using brute force, having no other means of defense, shoving his aggressor into the concrete wall next to a rusting tool cabinet. I was taking aim when a blade swung end over end and landed in the Infected’s head. Lou stopped and looked at Doc in awe, but Doc didn’t seem to notice it as he moved onto another target. I continued swinging my barrel around, dipping to avoid covering our team, and that was when I saw it. Doc, Mei, and Beverly had shed their backpacks and were each engaged with at least one Infected, taking down their targets with stunningly elegant precision. Doc’s blades were looping through the air and planting themselves in the skulls of the Infected. Beverly was moving through the garage, decapitating as she went. Mei, to my shock, had found a stack of saw blades, flat, circular, jagged pieces of metal, and had created her own version of Japanese throwing stars.