“Nice work, man!” Jake said, patting him on the shoulder.
Drew laughed, raising his beer in respect. “Good show, sir,” he said.
“I hope he’s ok,” Dan said.
“Well,” Jake said. “If he
followed the law
I’m sure he was wearing his seatbelt.”
Dan chuckled, feeling a wave of confidence flowing through him. Or maybe it was the excitement. He couldn’t tell which, and he didn’t really care.
Rural King was located at the second intersection in town. Dan turned into the shopping center, where there was also a grocery store, a few fast food restaurants, and a gas station. They could likely get everything they needed in this one stop, even the medical supplies.
The parking lot was half full of abandoned cars parked randomly about. Most of the windows of the businesses were smashed, and the stores had obviously been looted. Some of the buildings were partially burnt and smashed in, and bricks and other building materials were scattered around the pavement.
“Doesn’t look much different,” Dan joked as he navigated through the maze of cars.
“This would be a good time to turn your lights on,” Jake said. “We don’t need any baddies sneaking up on us.”
Dan agreed, clicking on his lights as they entered the main lot. There were bodies everywhere; some of them half eaten, others shot or smashed under the wheels of crashed cars. All three men scanned the area in front of them as Dan stopped, looking for any signs of movement.
“I don’t see anything,” Drew said, checking his M4A1.
Jake cocked his repeater in the back seat, strapping on his ammo belt. “Don’t be too sure,” he said. “Some of those fuckers are sneaky.”
“Should we park near the door,” Dan said, “or park farther away and walk up like cowboys?”
“I like the cowboy idea,” Jake said. “But that’s just me.”
Drew nodded. “Cowboy.”
Dan pulled ahead, avoiding a pile of bodies near a landscaped tree. He stared at them as they passed, mortified by their odd, twisted appearance. They were entangled in some strange fashion, their hands and faces frozen in gestures of hostility; like wax figures in a macabre, serial killer museum.
“Jesus Christ,” Dan whispered. “What the fuck happened here?”
“Did you see their faces?” Drew said.
“Like those fuckin’ newsreels from World War Two,” Jake added.
Dan chose a spot between two large pickups. They were about the only vehicles in the lot that weren’t destroyed and were still parked in actual spots. Taking one last look around them, Dan shut off the Hummer, and they contemplated their plan.
“We should stay in between cars when we go in,” Dan said. “Then stick together in the store. The gun aisle is closest to the door, around to the right. We’ll go there first, and then head to the other side. Jake, we can get a gas valve from the pumps at the gas station on the way back home.”
Jake and Drew nodded, and they all strapped up and silently exited the Hummer. They kept low as they weaved in and out of the parked cars, keeping their ears and eyes trained on any movements. When they reached the fire lane, they squatted, looking both ways before sprinting across to the doors.
The glass was busted, as was expected. The foyer was filled with large shards of it, a few bodies, and even a military rifle. Jake bent to examine it, seeing it was jammed.
“No good,” he whispered. “It’s a PK-102. Smaller AK-47. Piece of shit.”
Dan grabbed a shopping cart, grinning as he pushed it over to them. “We might need this.”
They entered the store with caution. To the right was the sporting clothes section, lined with racks and racks of hunting gear, work boots, and the like. An emergency light flashed dimly, giving the entire section a weird, lightning-like, intermittent glow.
“That’s gonna give me a seizure,” Drew whispered, turning away.
Dan crept forward to the right, keeping his eyes on the racks to the left side of the aisle. The flashing lights gave him the impression of movement somewhere among them. He knew it was just the shadows, but still felt uncomfortable enough to keep his rifle pointed in that direction.
Another left brought them close to the sporting goods section. There was a huge rack of expensive bows and crossbows, all painted in the same camouflage pattern. Dan pushed the cart near the end, turning to his friends.
“We should grab some bows just in case,” he said. “Stealth kills, you know?”
The three of them each grabbed a bow that felt comfortable to them. They tested the draw of each, making sure they could actually pull them back comfortably. Jake gathered an armful of arrow blanks, resting them in the cart, and then went back to take some tips off the rack. Drew grabbed some premade arrows, and even a small crossbow kit.
Dan went further down the aisle to peruse the hunting knives. Jake followed him, pointing out the good ones. “Most of these are cheap,” he said. “I can make better stuff, but I like the Estwing brand. They make their shit with good steel, not the stainless, but the stuff that will actually last without shattering.”
Dan nodded, choosing a few good knives, including a bowie knife that was painted black with an unfinished edge. Jake nodded his approval. “Good for a head choppin’” he said. “Nice and heavy.”
After loading up the cart, they went forward one more aisle. The gun displays were here; most of them smashed and looted with only the handguns and 22LR rifles left. There were a few good rifles left behind the counter, but they ignored them. They had enough rifles to last a lifetime. It was the ammo they were after.
Jake rounded the counter, perusing the shelves for the repeater ammo. He gathered every box he could find; at least a dozen in all. Dan and Drew gathered up the 5.56 and .223 rounds, and they stacked the cart full. There were only five boxes of shotgun shells left. They were a mixture of buckshot and slugs, and even non-lethal rubber rounds.
They would stay on the shelf.
Surprisingly, there were still many scopes and suppressors left. Jake looked like a kid in a candy store as he gathered them all. Dan smiled as he searched the shelves for .308 rounds, finding them on the bottom. There were still at least twenty boxes left, and he grabbed them all.
“There is a curious abundance of ammo here,” Jake said. “It’s like everyone who looted just grabbed a single box and ran.”
“Nobody plans for the future anymore,” Dan said. “But that works out for us, right?”
“I’ve never been on a shopping spree before,” Drew said. “At least not a free one. I think we need another cart.”
“Good idea,” Jake said. “There’s one over here.”
He crept to the end of the aisle to retrieve the
bastard
cart, then stopped and turned, motioning to Dan and Drew to approach. They looked at each other and snuck down the aisle to Jake, who was squatting behind the cart pointing off to the left. There, standing near the paint supplies was what looked to be a Shuffler.
He was motionless, but swayed a little, almost to the point of toppling over. He was dirty, with ripped clothing and matted hair that stood straight up like Cosmo Kramer’s troll hair. He was facing away from them, and appeared unaware of their presence.
“Bow,” Jake whispered, going to retrieve one of the new weapons. He returned with an arrow knocked, and squatted near the front of the cart. He pulled the bow back, leveling it out and taking aim.
Dan’s heart pounded as he watched the Shuffler. He hoped it was alone. If he wasn’t, killing it would alert any others nearby. He wasn’t sure if that even mattered, but it still made him nervous.
Jake let loose. The arrow made a sharp swoosh as it flew, and buried itself in the base of the Shuffler’s skull with a
thock!
The shuffler groaned, stumbling forward a few steps before falling to its knees, and pitching forward onto the floor.
They waited in silence, listening for any other sounds. After a minute or so, they relaxed. “Nice shot, man,” Drew said.
“Didn’t I tell you,” Jake said. “I was Robin Hood in a previous life.”
“Did you wear tights?” Dan joked.
Jake grinned. “Yep. Nice tough leather ones.”
They returned to their cart—along with an empty one—and continued down the side wall of the store. They passed the Shuffler’s body, staring down at it in revulsion. It reeked like shit and piss. Strangely, its vest had the Rural King logo on it.
“Employee of the month,” Dan whispered.
“He’s retired now,” Jake said.
The sound of soft footsteps came from ahead, and the three suddenly froze, crouching down and peering ahead. Near the rear corner of the store, two crouching shadows appeared around the end of the next aisle. They were armed, and carried their rifles low to the floor. From what Dan could see, they were not military, or Gephardt; probably more civilians on a shopping spree. From their stance, it appeared that they had seen the three of them.
“Careful,” Drew said. “They might be assholes.”
The two strangers approached slowly, coming toward them in a careful, silent pace. Dan could see that they were younger black men, probably in their mid-twenties. Each was dressed in black, with a black bandana tied in the front. They were heavily armed, and looked like they had been handling rifles their whole lives.
One of them raised his hand in a neutral gesture, and the three men relaxed as they came into the dim light.
“Sup?” Jake asked.
“Damn,” the leader said. “You a big mutha fucka.”
Jake chuckled. Drew held out his fist, and the guy bumped it.
“What y’all up to?” the guy asked. His friend sidled up next to him. Dan noticed that they looked almost identical. They were obviously brothers.
“Just doing a little shopping,” Dan said. “You?”
The guy nodded. “Same. Sorry, we cleaned out the 22LR ammo. We just lookin’ for some other shit now.”
“Where are you guys from?” Drew asked. “I haven’t seen you around town before.”
“Shit,” the guy said. “We ain’t from this mutha fucka, I tell you dat.”
Not surprising, Dan thought. There weren’t a lot of black people in Martinsville. They tended to stay away from
Cracka Central.
“We was in Mooresville when this shit came,” the guy continued. “Glad we left, though. They blew up Indy a couple days ago.”
“Yeah,” Dan said. “We were just leaving Lafayette when we saw the explosion.”
The guy nodded, then turned to his companion. “This is my little brutha, Terry,” he said. “I’m Vincent. We go by
TV.”
“Ha,” Jake said. “Good one.”
“I’m Dan. This is Drew and Jake.”
“Y’all from around here?” Vincent asked.
“Pretty close,” Dan said. “But Jake’s from up north.”
Vincent nodded. “Yeah, shit’s fucked up everywhere. Did you come from the compound up there in Valpo?”
Jake nodded. “Yep, why?”
“Our mama’s up there,” Vincent said. “At least she was. I don’t know if she still safe.”
“If she was there, then she’s safe,” Jake assured him. “The National Guard is taking good care of everyone.”
“Good, good,” Vincent said. “As long as they—“
A growl suddenly pierced the silence. It was a low growl coupled with a desperate moan of hunger. The five men froze, staring at each other as they listened. Vincent slowly stood and mounted the nearby shelves. He quietly climbed high enough to peek over, turning his head from side to side as he searched. His eyes widened when he turned to the right, and he climbed back down.
“Shit,” he said. “At the back of the store. A bunch of them; the quick ones.”
“Fuck,” Dan whispered, gripping his M4A1.
Jake checked his repeater, silently clicking off the safety. “Damn,” he said. “I didn’t bring my big gun.”
“Let’s move to the front of the store,” Drew said. “Maybe we can sneak out without them hearing us.”
“Not with this big ass shopping cart,” Jake said.
“Just push it slowly,” Dan said. “Hopefully it doesn’t have a bum wheel.”
They turned around, moving to the front of the store along the side wall. The sounds of scuffling and growling grew louder behind them. Terry and Vincent stuck close and brought up the rear. Dan led the way, looking down each aisle as they passed.
When they reached the front corner, Dan peered down the aisle toward the front door. There was a lone Shambler there, crouched over and sniffing the store. It was male; mostly naked except for a pair of ragged jeans. His torso was blistered and covered in patches of what looked like fungus. His head was distorted and lumpy, and his mouth was lipless and sporting a rictus grin that sent chills up Dan’s spine.
Dan motioned for the group to stop, looking around for an alternate route. Jake came up beside him; glaring at the Shambler as it swept its head from side to side.
“Ugly fucker,” he whispered.
Drew took a peek. “Jake,” he whispered. “Can you hit it with the bow?”
“Prolly,” he said. “But that might alert some of the others.”
Vincent leaned in from behind them. “Maybe we could throw something toward the back of the store and haul ass out the door.”
Dan nodded. “That might work,” he said. “But we’re pushing a shopping cart.”
“That’s y’all’s shit,” Vincent said, shrugging.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dan said. “I throw like a girl. Somebody else do it.”
Terry grabbed a heavy boot from the shelf behind him. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Hold up.”
He crept toward the front wall to get a better look over the first row of shelves. He held the boot in his right hand, grasping it by the heel, and reared it back. Dan gritted his teeth in anticipation, hoping the younger man could get a good enough arc in such a confined space. Terry looked like a skilled thrower, Dan noted, so the prospect was good.