Shamblers: the zombie apocalypse (7 page)

Chapter Nine

I stared at Mr. Yates and waited to see what he would say next. It felt like an eternity.

“You both will be going out on our next supply raid.”

“You can’t be serious?” I objected
. Almost simultaneously, Marcus put in, “What’s this: a fucking joke?”

Mr. Yates took another sip from his beer, eyed m
e, then Marcus, and answered, “This will be an opportunity for both of you to resolve your differences and allow for a more level-headed approach going forward. I can’t have your antics endangering my town.”

I sighed. This was the last thing I wanted. We’d likely tear each other apart before we made it out of town.

“And what of the third person?” Marcus demanded.

“What?” Mr. Yates asked.

“The third person, you heard me. Supply raids are in groups of three, unless I can’t read the rules, which I fucking can.”

Mr. Yates smiled coldly. I could tell that he too didn’t like
the constant attitude that Marcus displayed. “You’re making Holger nervous,” he stated. The huge Swede in the background showed no emotion, but he looked ready to pounce over the desk and rip the head from Marcus’ body in half in a second’s notice. Mr. Yates then added, “I suggest you be a bit more pleasant when you speak to me.”

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. As he looked at Mr. Yates, he said, “I apologize in that case.”

“
Your apology is accepted, but you are right,” he conceded, “rules are rules and I am not exempt. The brunette will be the third.”

I almost shit as I blurted out, “Becky?”

Mr. Yates nodded slowly as if he thought I had a comprehension problem.

“You can’t be serious. She didn’t do anything, and…well,
never mind.” I almost said she was the reason for all of this, except that I knew it wasn’t true: Marcus was to blame. She was just the catalyst that set him off. Plus, I didn’t really feel like divulging any additional information to Mr. Yates, who I hardly knew and wasn’t sure I trusted.

“So it’s settled,” he decided. “You three
will leave after breakfast tomorrow morning. I’ll have Clod and Karin prepare your supplies. You will meet them by the rear entrance to this building. Good day gentlemen.”

Marcus stormed out of the room and I followed behind him.

“This is fucking bullshit,” he yelled out, probably loud enough that Mr. Yates could hear him back in his office.

“It’s your fault,” I added as I exited the police station behind him. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

Marcus’ initial reply was to shake his head in disgust. A few yards later, her added, “I know I fucked up. I don’t like this any more than you. For all of our sakes, though, let’s try to stay on the same page until we see this little fiasco fucking concluded. I want to stay alive.”

“Okay,” I agreed.
As Marcus turned to leave I added, “and who the hell is Karin?”

Marcus laughed.
The blonde bitch,” he let me know.

“With the knife?”

“Yeah, and an ass that won’t quit; she must do crunches or something. I also heard she hits harder than you.”

I
was tempted to hit him to prove him wrong, but I instantly realized that even a joking punch could set off another brawl. Mr. Yates hadn’t been in much of a joking mood, so I decided to refrain.

Later that evening
, I explained what had transpired to Becky. She wasn’t pleased. When I told her about the consequences of our actions, including her new position within our scavenging party, I got the silent treatment for the rest of the night. Becky even slept on her own mattress and faced the wall. Marcus, meanwhile, took his mattress out into the hallway. Apparently the drama he had started was all too much for him to handle.

The next morning
, the three of us had breakfast then we met with Clod and Karin behind the police station to pick up our backpacks.

“Good morning guys,” Karin greeted us. Today, she wore beige hot-pa
nts and a sky-blue t-shirt that looked much too small for her. Her tight, little stomach and her belly button were showing. She also had a beige baseball cap that matched her hot pants.

“Dressed pretty snappy for the apocalypse, are we?” I joked.

She smiled but I got the distinct impression that she didn’t find me very funny. It also seemed as if she didn’t expect to see any of us again. As usual, her large knife was sheathed in her belt, and she now had an AK-47 strapped around her back. She was really pretty; it was hard to deny that. Were it not for Becky, I would certainly have considered hooking up with her.

“I make do,” she commented as she handed me a
forest-green backpack that was filled to the max. Next, I was offered an empty, black duffel bag. She pointed to the duffel bag and told me, “This is where you will put any supplies you scavenge. We expect this bag to be at least half full before you come back.”

“I’ll do what I can,” I told her.

Clod was standing nearby. He was wearing blue jeans, a blue and green flannel shirt, and red suspenders that made him look even more like a hillbilly. He handed Marcus and Becky their backpacks: Becky’s was tan and Marcus’ was charcoal. Each one was as full as my own. As they put them on, Karin continued, “You have enough food and water to last you three days. I suggest you ration it for more in case you encounter trouble. There’s also some stuff you can use to start a fire, a file, a flashlight, and some simple first-aid stuff. Oh, and some weapons to smash some shamblers with.”

“Got it, boss,” Marcus responded and winked at her.

“Ya’ll come back real soon, alright,” Clod commented. Then, looking at Becky, he added, “and yous’ especially, sweet-cheeks.”

I couldn’t wait to smash his face in.
I only prayed I’d get the chance to.

Becky merely laughed and answered
sarcastically, “Oh, I’ll be sure to come back here for you, stud. I can’t resist a guy who doesn’t brush or shower.”

Karin put her hand over her mouth and giggled at that. Clod flushed red and looked at the ground. As he played with the red suspenders he was wearing today, I went up to him and lightly slapped the side of his face twice. He looked up and I looked him in the eye. While meeting his gaze, I said
in my most-frosty tone, “you have a good day. I’ll see you when I get back.”

Just like that, the three of us were off. I took a last, fleeting glance at t
he clock-tower of the old town hall. I knew that Mr. Yates’ designated sniper was up there waiting for trouble, ready to snap off a round in any person or zombie who warranted it. It was time to focus on our mission.

We didn’t say much for the first few hours, and only encountered one zombie. It was easily side-stepped. When we stopped for lunch in a safe, grassy area, I ate with Becky. Marcus walked twenty yards beyond us before
he paused to eat by himself.

We came to the first buildings late in the afternoon, after
we followed a stream for a few miles, and fled from a handful of zombies that we couldn’t go around.

“I think that’s a gas station,” Becky commented as we got closer.

That was a good sign. Gas stations often had something to scavenge.

We approached it with caution, and drew weapons fr
om our backpacks as we did. My backpack had a tire-iron. Marcus got a lead pipe. Becky’s prize was a claw hammer. It was probably the most useful of the items because it could serve several purposes.

“I’m going around
to the right,” Becky said as she hefted her hammer up, “you two go left. Once we’re sure it’s clear, we’ll go inside.”

“Okay,” I nodded.

I took the lead and crept around the left side of the gas station with Marcus right behind me. There was nothing but an alley and some old, tipped over trashcans. I wasn’t sure what a red-brick building to my left was, but suspected it was a library.

Making as little noise as possible, we moved to the front of the gas station and cautiously looked around. There were no zombies to be seen, just old, decaying pumps. Becky appeared a second later and gave us a thumbs
-up.

“I got this,” Marcus said next, and he brusquely pushed by me to get to the gas station door. With a little more tact, he gently opened the door and signaled for us to follow
with his pipe. Becky went through behind him and I entered last. A few rows of empty shelves were in front of us. The register area was to the left. With our weapons ready, we headed to the far right corner to scope out the aisles.

The gas station was empty. Not just of zombies, but of anything. Either the folks from Payne’s Creek had cleaned it out in prior raids, or perhaps it had been looted before
hand.

“That’s the quickest search I’ve ever done,” I remarked as we exited
the facility. The building to my left was indeed a library, so we universally elected not to search it: books were great for passing time or starting a fire, but they didn’t taste too well.

“There may be something in there,” I pointed across the street to a small mom-and-pop type restaurant with a  large, glass front-window.

We made our way across the street. As I was almost to the door, I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I looked into the restaurant window. Nothing was there. I wondered if I had just hallucinated. I crept closer.

S
uddenly, a huge, overweight zombie in a chef’s outfit burst through the window. As I was showered with glass, I jumped backward. The zombie landed on its stomach at my feet and immediately started to stand back up. Fragments of broken glass stuck out of its face. Most of its scalp had been sliced open, and the skin on the top of its head flapped around as it moved. 

Marcus and Becky set upon it. They swung and beat it down with their weapons until it stopped moving.
I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thanks guys.”

“Sure thing.”

We all looked around, hesitant to enter the restaurant
. If more zombies had heard the tremendous crash and ensuing racket we didn’t want to get trapped inside.

After thirty seconds of tense waiting, no
new zombies appeared. We breathed a collective sigh of relief. Marcus agreed to go first into the restaurant. We followed close behind him. Becky entered last. She made sure that the door was shut securely behind us. We couldn’t do anything about the window, but it would be more difficult for zombies to climb through it, so at least that was a minor consolation.

I l
ooked around and noticed that the restaurant was divided into two sections. In the front of the restaurant was a typical series of green, upholstered booths. The rear area had a mahogany counter with metal stools bolted to the floor. A window to the kitchen was set in a wall just beyond the counter. The wall was lined with random memorabilia: I noted a signed poster of some celebrity I didn’t know, a framed copy of Rolling Stone with The Who on it, and a cheesy, custom map of the town; it showed random (now defunct) establishments and points of interest. A sign written in yellow chalk above the counter read “Closed due to infection. We hope to reopen soon.”

“Not fucking likely,” M
arcus commented as he noticed the sign.

The
re wasn’t much worth taking in the front of the restaurant. We netted several dozen packets of salt, pepper, and Sweet N Lo, a half-used bottle of ketchup, and another bottle of maple syrup. At least they would help fill the duffel bag and get us closer to completing our mission.

With the front looted, we proceeded into the kitchen, or rear of the restaurant. The first thing we checked was the freezer. Marcus opened it carefully, just an inch or two, and we listened. No noise or scuffling. That was a good sign. He opened the door all the way. I stood with my tire-iron ready. It was empty of zombies. Unfortunately, it was also empty of everything else. I suppose it didn’t matter much: whatever had once been stored within would have long since gone bad from lack of power. 
     

Marcus shut the freezer door. Becky grab
bed some cooking knives and other, random utensils and threw them into the duffel bag. I found a nice, cast-iron skillet and contributed it. She then located a stainless-steel vegetable steamer basket (which would get a ton of use since we would be eating a lot of vegetables now).

No sooner had she put that in the bag when Marcus called out, “jackpot!”

We both turned to look. He was holding up a two pound bag of sugar: a luxury item.

“Great grab,” Becky cheered him on.

Marcus carefully placed the sugar into our bag. We were actually starting to accrue a respectable stash.

The kitchen looked picked-clean at this point.
I was about to turn and leave when I noticed another door. It was stainless steel and had a handle that reminded me of 50’s refrigerator.

“Give it a try.” Marcus suggested.

I cautiously approached the door and yanked on the handle. It was stuck. I pulled a bit harder. Still nothing. Finally, I jerked on the door as hard as I could. It came open and I staggered back unexpectedly. I almost fell, but Becky braced me up.