Dead, but Not for Long (12 page)

Eric began to panic.

“You dumb-ass, where did you put those keys!” he cursed himself as he pulled his pockets inside out.

“I didn’t take them out of my pockets. I couldn’t have,” he reassured himself.

Outside, the numbers of undead were steadily growing. They seemed to call to each other with
their frenzied moaning and as more of the infected arrived, they began to pile
up on the hood and finally onto the top of the car. The roof started to flex
under the sheer weight of bodies that crawled atop, looking for a way in.

Eric searched the cab frantically. He reached between the seats and under the floorboard.

“Okay, Eric,” he said aloud, trying to calm himself down, “you’ll just have to hot wire it.”

He had never hot-wired anything before in his life, but it looked so easy on TV. He stuck
his head under the dashboard and pulled on a panel that was under the steering column.

“Ignition wires must come through here to get to the ignition,” he said aloud. As the panel
came off, he could see bundles of wire everywhere. He could spend hours
stripping wires and holding them together in different combinations, and he
knew that he didn’t have hours. The sound of popping metal told him that he
only had minutes. As he brought his head back up, a skinless face was staring
into his eyes. The creature had taken advantage of an opening that was slowly
developing between the top of the windshield and the frame of the car. As the
unfortunate thing wedged its face into the crack, others piled on top of it,
stripping the already rotting skin from the creature’s face. The bulging eyes
and exposed anatomy seemed to give it a grotesque smile as it snapped its
lipless jaws at Eric. The chilling display again caused Eric to wet himself. The only
consolation was that if he got out of this one, he wouldn’t have to change his underwear, as he still wasn’t wearing any.

His mind raced for a solution to his crisis but all he could do was to sink lower into the
seat to avoid the grinning beast that was being pushed farther into the gap
with every creature that piled over it. The pressure was so intense that both
eyes filled with what he could only guess were postmortem juices. Eric covered
his face as one eye popped from its socket under the strain, followed by the
other, seconds later. He slouched lower to avoid the eyeballs as they dangled above him.

“I guess this is it!” he cried, seeing no way out. “Mom, I hope you’re not mad, ‘cuz I’m coming now.”

As often happens when someone is faced with their demise, Eric’s pitiful life began to flash
before his eyes. He remembered a show on TV from when he was a kid. A car thief
in the cheesy 1980’s rerun had broken the window of a fancy sedan and had pried
at the ignition with his switchblade. Snapping the lock, he had started the
engine, allowing him to abscond with his prize Scot-free. The picture in his
mind gave Eric one last chance. He looked for a tool. There by his side was his
trusty samurai sword. It had saved him many times already. Maybe it could help him again.

He struggled to maneuver the unwieldy sword into position but his efforts were thwarted by a
set of keys that were in his way. He reached out to move them and then realized
what he was doing. He’d never even thought to check the ignition. It must have
been stress, he told himself. He dropped the sword and turned the keys, feeling
a wave of relief when the engine roared to life. He was glad that not a living
soul had witnessed his blunder, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that even the
dead were mocking him. He watched as the vehicle pushed piles of zombies out of
his way. Several fell off the roof as he sped down the driveway and down the
road. Grabbing the sword, he positioned it on the forehead of the creature that
was still lodged between the frame and the windshield. He pushed, causing the
zombie to fly off. He sat upright and watched in his side mirror as the corpse bounced down the road.

“No one laughs at Eric Wapowski.”

~*~

Keith exited the elevator with the cart, followed by the others. Pulling the list from his
pocket, he asked Lindsey and Autumn if they’d mind helping to distribute the
meds. He lowered his voice and added, “I don’t trust Marla to do it alone. There have been problems before.”

Lindsey agreed to help, deciding that she would rather stay busy than to have time to dwell on the crisis.

“Marla,” Keith said, handing her the easy list, “Autumn and Lindsey are going to help hand out
the meds since we’re short-handed. Autumn is going to help you.”

He mouthed the words “watch her” to Autumn when Marla turned her head to study the list. Keith
hoped that with Lindsey’s training as a physical therapist, she could help with
the patients that needed IV drugs.

~*~

Jack watched as the dead seemed to wander aimlessly around the parking lot. He wondered what
they thought, or even
if
they thought. Some clawed at the walls of the
hospital as if they knew there were people inside. Maybe they remembered or
maybe they could sense them some other way. Others seemed to stagger rigidly in
circles seeming unaware of one another. The streets surrounding the hospital
were dotted with the lumbering infected and none seemed to be in any hurry to leave.

At times, he was convinced that there were normal people amongst the undead, until they would
turn to reveal a torn out throat or a hollowed abdomen. There were also piles
of moving flesh clinging to partial skeletons. These were the ones, he thought,
who had been mostly consumed before they had turned. Sometimes a head would
rise up from the mush, sometimes it would be an arm, or a leg. There were also
smaller masses that seemed to appear wherever the creatures roamed. These
smaller piles didn’t seem to move, but there was something odd about them. He
couldn’t see them well from the third floor, but there were bright colors in
some of them that could only be fabric, he thought. As he watched the ghoulish
beings, he noticed something peculiar. Occasionally, one of them would cease
its roving and have some sort of spasm. Its head would move almost in a nodding
fashion then it would bend over, opening its jaws. Slowly, globs of sludge
would emerge from its mouth, leaving a revolting pile on the ground. Then the
creature would continue its ambling gait, dragging its feet through the mound
of vomit. That, Jack thought as he tried to keep from gagging, explained the smaller piles.

~*~

Eric sped out of his neighborhood into a business area. Retail buildings and shops lined the
streets and slow moving creatures milled about. Certain shops were swarming
with infected trying to get in. Eric figured these were the ones that were
filled with humans who were trying to stay off the menu. He had to weave past
several cars that had been abandoned in the middle of the road. One in
particular had the roof caved in and the windshield busted out. A trail of
blood led from the hood of the car to a gathering of feasting zombies nearby
and Eric shivered when he realized how close he had been to sharing the same
fate. As he started to leave the center of town, he saw a fast food restaurant
that served chicken. The exterior was crawling with the dead, but the building
still seemed secured. He saw people inside waving frantically as he pulled into the parking lot.

“Eric,” he said to himself, “time to be a hero.”

He pulled as close to the building as possible and started running the walking corpses down.
Each time he approached, they turned to walk toward him, making his job much
easier. After three or four times around the lot, most of them were no longer
walking. Eric ran the crawlers over several more times as the captives inside
the building cheered. He positioned the car in front of a large glass window
and rammed it, driving into the building all the way to the counter. He got out
of the car and climbed over the counter, making his way to the kitchen. As he
grabbed as many breasts and drumsticks as he could carry, a young man approached him.

“Man, we’ve been waiting for you guys all day! Where’s your backup?”

Grabbing a tub of macaroni and cheese, Eric turned to see several people looking at him, awaiting an answer.

“They’re right behind me. I’ve got starving people at the hospital that I have to get this
food to, but help is on the way.”

A woman in the back came forward.

“How can anyone be starving already?”

Eric threw the tub into the cab of the car and got back in.

“And why did you break the window? There are still thousands of those things out there! What
kind of cop are you?”

Eric said nothing as he slammed the door and locked it. People started to bang on the
hood as he pulled back out of the store and into the parking lot. As he pulled
away, he could see a mass of undead pouring out of the neighboring buildings, heading toward the restaurant.

“They would have gotten in anyway,” he told himself, while chomping on a drumstick, “eventually.”

He continued to drive toward the gun shop, quickly devouring the fried poultry. He had taken
the bus there many times, mostly to impress anyone who would listen with his
vast knowledge of firearms. He was able to fool a few unwary customers who had
little experience with guns, but the experienced gun owner could usually see
immediately that Eric had no clue what he was talking about. Even if his mother
had allowed firearms in her home, Eric didn’t have the financial discipline to
save up for a gun and his credit was shot, with more credit card debt than he
could pay off in ten years. Of course, that might not matter anymore.

He saw the shop in the distance, but slowed when he saw the exit sign. Highway 127 exited about
a quarter mile past the gun shop. He’d often dreamed of following it north, up
toward Ithaca. It was a short drive in a vehicle, but a lifetime for an
overweight man on a bicycle. Once, he had actually taken a bus to Ithaca,
storing his bike on the rack, and had tried to peddle the several miles of dirt
road from the bus stop to Cheri’s farm for a glimpse of her house. He couldn’t
believe she had married a farmer but not even jealousy had been able to give
Eric the motivation to keep going, and he had become exhausted and had turned
back. He’d had to be satisfied with stalking her from the satellite photos he
could bring up on his computer.

Now his fantasy was attainable. It was also possible that she was in trouble. Maybe this was
his chance to redeem himself. He slowed as he approached the gun shop. It was
obvious that he was not the first customer of the day, as the doors were open
and debris was strewn about the front of the building, along with several
corpses that had undoubtedly been used as target practice.

“Sorry, Jack,” he said aloud, as he sped up and took the entrance onto the highway.

~*~

“Eric, you copy?” The radio crackled with silence. “Eric, answer the radio.”

Eric had traveled only a few miles up 127 when he heard Jack’s voice crackle on the
radio. He tried to ignore it at first, but Jack persisted.

“Yeah,” Eric replied with a little hesitation. “I’m here, Boss.”

“Where’s our ammo? We thought you’d be here by now.”

“Yeah, Boss, I just went by the shop and it’s been cleaned out. I’m heading out of town.”

“Eric,” Jack said like a parent chastising his kid, “we need that ammo. There’s more than
one shop in town. Keep looking until you find some. This is extremely important.”

Eric was tired of Jack telling him what to do. This time he was on his own. No one could stop him. Not even Jack.

“No can do, Boss,” Eric said, defying his supervisor for the first time in his life. “Got
some things I have to do.”

“Eric,” Jack said in the slow methodical voice that always intimidated Eric. “I don’t know
how many rounds I have left, but if you don’t get us some ammo, I’m going to
save one bullet, and I’m going to hunt you down and plant that bullet in your
forehead. Then I’m going to drag your dead ass back and let everybody watch as
the zombies tear every bit of flesh from your body.

Eric guessed he was bluffing, but if this thing did get resolved, Eric still needed a job, and
he knew that Jack was one of the only people left in town that was willing to
employ him.

“Losing your sense of humor, Boss?” Eric replied sheepishly. “I was just kidding.”

Eric cursed as he turned around at the next exit and headed back the way he had come. He hoped
that he wouldn’t have to drive all over town to find what he needed.

Returning to the gun shop, Eric surveyed the scene. It was far enough from the city center that
the walking dead were few. He parked in the lot next to the building for a few
minutes to coax the zombies out of hiding. Three creatures approached the car,
pressing their hungry faces against the window. When no more would be lured
out, he proceeded to grind the three ghouls into the parking lot. Once they
ceased to move, Eric exited the vehicle and slowly entered the shop, sword in
hand. The place lay in ruins. The glass cabinets had been shattered and the
guns stripped from the walls and display cases. Not a single rifle or pistol
remained. Fortunately, the floor lay strewn with ammunition. He radioed Jack to
make sure of the caliber needed and found more than he could carry.

As he hauled his second load to the parking lot, he heard a rumbling. A line of
bikers filed into the parking lot. Eric froze as he watched the tattooed,
bearded hoodlums dismount their bikes. The lead rider approached him and sized
him up while Eric, still holding a box of .357 mag loads, started to shake.

“You a cop?” the biker demanded.

“No,” Eric insisted. “I ain’t no damn cop. I stole this.” He nodded in the direction of the car.

“You kill him?” the man asked, looking into Eric’s eyes.”

Eric wasn’t sure how to answer. He wanted to lie, but the way the man looked at him was like he
was looking into his brain. “No,” he finally said.

“Good,” the biker responded. “My brother’s a cop.”