Outside I heard glass crunching. Dropping into a crouch again, turning the flashlight off quickly, I relied on the cashier island in front of the gate to obscure me. I forced my breathing to normalize and stayed still, trying to formulate a plan of escape.
Should’ve thought of that sooner, you idiot.
As ideas raced through my mind, a nearby shelf caught my attention.
Nyquil. Dayquil? Mucinex!
An over the counter respiratory dream. Knowing I might forget them when things got hot, I took them all and crammed the medicine into my fourth backpack. Even if I made it out with just that one, I’d be pleased.
Pleasure evaporated quickly when I heard squeaking drawing closer. I didn’t need to guess what was making it.
What was there to worry about? It wasn’t as though a zombie had the dexterity to climb through the buyback window. And besides the gate, there wasn’t any other entrance. If worst came to worst, I would just stay in the bookstore until they cleared out enough for me to escape.
Footsteps grew louder and I peered around the cashiers’ area to see an ordinary man standing in front of the grate. I estimated he’d been dead about five months, since he was emaciated and on the verge of snapping. Dark splotches stained the front of his striped polo and down his khakis. A ragged chunk of his face was missing. He looked around blandly, but even though he found nothing he remained. Minutes passed and another one, an Asian woman, walked passed him and began a slow ascent up a staircase across from the bookstore.
Still, Khakis remained. Occasionally he wheezed and shifted positions, but wasn’t leaving. If I was in this situation four months ago, I would’ve pulled out an assault rifle and popped one in his head. No problem.
Now I was as desperate as any other survivor out there. My primary form of defense was a baseball bat. I asked myself repeatedly what to do, but the backwoods part of my brain didn’t produce any suggestions.
If I waited longer, I risked more zombies coming. I wanted to wait until he cleared out, but the plan was flawed. If too many of them arrive, there was no way to know how long it would take them to leave. Feeling a little dejected, I turned my head and looked at the three resource-filled bags. I had one with me, mostly filled with drugs, but some food, too. I doubted I’d be able to make it with more than one backpack, but leaving them behind was out of the question. I
needed
those supplies. What if I never had the chance to come back?
To my left was a pegboard where the sweaters hung. I realized it was behind the display windows. I couldn’t leave the same way I came in—too dangerous—but this gave me an idea. As slow and quiet as I could manage, I made it to the pegboard. It was made of multiple panels, allowing it to span ten feet across.
Each panel was on a hinge, which was how people must’ve gotten behind it to create the displays. A rectangular notch acted as a handle. If I was right, tugging on that would let the panel swing open.
Then, if I broke the glass, I could toss the other three backpacks out and make a run for it with just one. Once the commotion subsided in a day or two, I could just run out and grab the other three. This plan wasn’t perfect by any means, but I was pleased with it.
I heard a groan from Khakis, an alert to the others, and knew my grace period had expired.
I sprinted from the pegboard to my packs, looping their straps around my forearms, and dashed back. Hinges squeaked and apparel fell off hooks as I pulled the panel open.
Lunging forward, I heaved the backpacks with me, stepping into the display. I dropped the backpacks and Barbara as I was blinded by the bright light from outside. Stumbling, I knocked over what must’ve been a mannequin.
The window took two hits from Barbara before it cracked. A series of deeper fractures spiraled out from my initial strikes before the glass cascaded to the floor. While hoping Khakis was too dumb to go around, I threw the packs into the empty hallway. Broken glass crunched under my boots. The hallway was empty, and outside appeared to be, too. But how could I really know? There was a blind spot to my left outside the door. I wouldn’t discover if something was there until I stuck my head out.
I set Barbara just outside the door dropped to my knees, and crawled through the opening. I looked to the left and I saw her. Saw her real,
real
close.
The Zs chest cavity was gaping open, grayed organs still intact. Ragged, torn skin framed the gruesome corpse. The face was mostly intact, though one eye was missing. She was a foot away, leaning down. I was probably the first living bag of flesh she’d seen in months.
I propelled myself forward. In my attempt to avoid her yellowed mouth, I skittered on some broken glass. She fell onto my back, her arms locking around my waist.
This is why I saved ammo. Sometimes there were circumstances where a bullet was the only thing that could save you. I couldn’t use Barbara. I wasn’t at an angle that gave me the leverage to destroy her zombie brain.
Jerking the 9mm out from my vest holster, now under the sweater, wasn’t easy. The seconds it took brought me closer to death. More so than I was comfortable with. When I finally got it out, I twisted around as much as I could. The stiff’s head rose and her arms loosened, one swinging up for my neck. I dropped to the floor with her and rolled onto my back, bringing the gun up between us, under her chin, just as her mouth opened.
Pop.
The stiff had been dead for so long all her blood was congealed. Nothing came out of the hole through her chin or the top of her head. I quickly shoved off her lifeless body, sending it to the floor with a fleshy thump.
Barely able to breathe through my congestion and exertion, I scrambled up and rammed the gun into my front sweater pocket. I looked at the door behind me. Khakis was making his slow way toward me. There was no telling how long I’d have to stay cooped up in Rainier again. I took the risk of reaching through to get another backpack. My heart pounded. I thought of everything that could go wrong. It could get caught on the doorframe, another Z could come up behind me—but no risk meant more suffering later on.
I pulled another pack through without a hitch and ran across the sky bridge, straight into my haven. I wanted to stop and take a look around to see what was coming for me. But after months of the same results, I didn’t
need
to stop. I knew.
Once in, I shoved the upper and lower locks into place. After the first try at shoving the crowbar into place, and it clattering onto the ground, I had to leave it. Instead I rushed back upstairs. Aside from the echo of the slamming door and my own wet breathing, no noise came from inside or outside the office. Beyond the doors downstairs, I heard a faint, confused moaning.
I made it. The first thing I did was crack open a bottle of blissfully sweet cough syrup.
* * *
Too cold. Freezing. Wake up.
My eyes opened, but my body seemed to be paralyzed. Between all the sweaters and blankets I was steaming myself to death. A cottony texture coated my mouth and teeth. Despite the numerous layers, I felt cold. Rigid.
The fever didn’t wake me up. It was the dream. I was back in the crashed Mustang, just past Startup. All the darkness surrounding me was constricting. My body hung by the seatbelt, but this time it was cutting into my flesh. I could feel blood trickling down my chest and stomach, dripping into the cold river swirling around me.
I didn’t want to turn my head, but I had to. To know what was next to me.
This time she was in the car with me. And this time, she was dead. Her face was rotting and her eyes were opaque, but I knew it was her. Instead of gnashing teeth and groans, the dead Blaze looked at me blankly.
“You left me,” she wheezed. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I opened my mouth to apologize, but nothing came out.
“You thought I was dead. I wasn’t.” Black liquid and smoke seeped from between her cracked lips.
And I woke up. Like I always did when I had that dream.
Blaze wouldn’t leave me alone. She plagued my mind when I was awake and lingered when I slept. In my adrenaline-induced mania after raiding the store, I took too much cough syrup. Later, I saw her standing over me before she walked out of the room. My logic was getting shaky. For a split second, I considered running after her.
I groped around in the darkness for a bottle and my fingertips brushed against a familiar plastic surface. Rolling over, I grabbed whatever it was and cracked it open.
The citrusy smell of Sprite assaulted me. I drained the flat substance before throwing the bottle across the room. It must’ve struck Pickle, because I heard an angry squeak and the sound of skittering feet.
Dizziness overcame me. The room tilted until I blacked out again.
Chapter 4
Spicy jalapeño chips became an hourly sinus-clearing routine. I’d eat a whole snack size bag in a minute and wait until the magic started. Adding in shots of Dayquil seemed to help out other symptoms, too. Afterwards, I felt pretty good. For a while.
One day had passed since I’d gotten ahold of the drugs and food. My brain was still melting inside my skull, and my body protested against the lack of nutrition, but I was still alive. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing anymore, but I kept on going anyway.
I chewed and swallowed, ignoring the pain as the jagged end of a chip battered my throat, and I tried to imagine what I’d do when I was better.
Can I say post-apocalypse? Or was it still occurring? As far as I was concerned, it was done.
Sick
!
I wanted to continue, to toughen up like they do in the movies and defy the stress my body was under, but as the days passed I realized how cockamamie the entire idea of finding Blaze was. How in the hell would I search? It’s not like I could track her down through the internet or hire someone to track her. I couldn’t call her on the phone. Couldn’t send her a letter. In fact, probability of finding her was dishearteningly slim. In the midst of an undead world, expectations were a joke.
But what else was I going to do?
Licking my fingers, I crumpled the bag, threw it at the computer desk, and yawned. I cast aside my nest of blankets and stood up, stretching my arms high over my head and groaning. I felt Pickle crawling up my jeans and I picked her up, holding her close to my chest.
“I’m sure you’re ready to go, huh?”
Her beady red eyes stared at me before she began struggling in my grasp. I placed her on the floor and walked to the window.
There was a woman in the parking lot. But not just any woman. It was Blaze. She was walking across the empty expanse of cement like she owned the place. Not a care in the world. She didn’t have anything to indicate she was traveling—no backpack, no rifle. Nothing. But I recognized the confident walk, the crazy black hair.
I burst out of the office and ran till I reached the doors, armed only with the delusion that I’d finally found her. When I unlocked the doors, a strong wall of cold air hit me, stealing my breath away.
Khakis happened to be out there and seemed surprised as I ran past him. I gave him a good shove onto the bridge as I sprinted towards Blaze. She was still in plain view. Breathing hard, I made it across.
But as I turned the corner to the side walkway, she was gone. I should’ve just turned around, killed Khakis, and gone back into my junk food laden den of illness.
I kept going, though. My face stung in the icy morning air. My chest heaved against the strain of physical exertion. I ran until I was in the empty parking lot.
“Blaze!” I screamed. “Blaze!”
There was nothing. I walked in a loose circle, but saw emptiness. A single truck sat in the parking lot, but I knew the vehicle was locked. A bleak feeling coursed through me and I dropped to my knees. I pressed my face into my hands and breathed out.
I was certifiably crazy. Off my rocker. This kind of thing was bound to happen eventually, I guess. How could a man stay by himself for that long, with that amount of guilt and cough syrups, and not put himself into immediate danger? Somewhere in front of me I heard running. The clinking of gear. It didn’t matter. It could be a runner or just my imagination, but I wasn’t sure I could keep going.
“What in the hell are you doing? Get up!”
Fuck you, hallucination. Now voices? I wasn’t falling for it.
The steps grew closer. I finally gave in and looked up when a shadow fell across my vision.
“I thought everyone was dead. I haven’t seen a living person in weeks,” he said in a rush. The jangling of his gear ceased as he stopped in front of me. “Where did you come from? We need to get somewhere safe.”
He looked familiar, but it wasn’t as though I’d met him before. For all I knew he was from the East Coast. He was younger than me, for sure, but I wouldn’t say he was in his teens. Dark eyes peeked out from behind shaggy black hair, and his skin rivaled my own in terms of paleness. A brown scraggly beard completed his mountain-man look.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, while scanning for threats. His expression grew hard. He must have spotted Khakis.
The man grabbed my arm and jerked me up. I went willingly and my words came back to me. “Past those slows across the bridge is where I’ve been staying. It’s safe.”
“Glad you found your voice,” he said, but he wasn’t scornful. Instead he seemed jovial, which was out of place. Who had optimism these days?
Once I had my feet beneath me, he produced a lead pipe from somewhere. It looked heavy, but he held it with confidence.
“You don’t have a weapon. Just follow me,” he said. “I’ll knock them out of the way.”
He burst toward Khaki and another slow I hadn’t seen before, pipe raised. I took a step forward and stopped thinking.
Stopped thinking because I fainted.
* * *
I was tired of waking up like that. With a splitting headache, a stomach on revolt, and major difficulties breathing. The chills from my fever were gone. Now I was burning from being under so many layers. The only thing different this time was that someone was right beside me.