Authors: Megan Berry
“I don’t, but the hardware store should.” He looks at me like he’s debating asking me to go and get him some, but then he changes his mind and gives his head a small shake. “I’ll go and grab them and be right back,” he says, not even pausing to see if I object.
I nod even though he’s already disappeared. He probably thinks I don’t know what a pair of bolt cutters look like—I don’t—but he doesn’t have to know that.
I stare blankly at the guns. There are all sorts of different sizes and one in particular that looks like some sort of military assault rifle. For the first time in a couple days, I miss my phone. I would have loved to be able to google a couple of these guns and impress Silas with a bit of random knowledge.
Silas returns at a run with a pair of heavy red bolt cutters in his hand. I watch his chest rising up and down rapidly, and I know he ran the whole way. He’s as excited as a kid at Christmas.
“Is that an AK-47?” I ask when he pulls an enormous looking machine gun from the locker, ignoring all the other guns.
Silas shakes his head. “It’s better. This is an AR-15.” He runs his hand along the smooth, black barrel as he talks, and I roll my eyes.
“Do you want me to leave you two alone?” I ask, only half joking.
Silas grunts in true Silas fashion and sets the gun down on the countertop that he didn’t smash. Then he goes back and digs a few more things out of the case.
“So,” I say, making Silas look up at me. “Why is this gun better than an AK-47?”
Silas looks impressed that I want to learn. “AK-47’s are a thing of the past, the AR is the future. These are the guns that our military uses—which should make it easier to find ammo.”
I don’t correct Silas that our military is a thing of the past too thanks to the flesh eating monsters moaning outside the mall.
“The AR can fire six hundred yards, which is two hundred more yards than the AK. It’s lighter, and it can fire way more rounds per minute.”
I raise my eyebrow. I’m impressed that Silas knows so much about these things.
“Do you want to know my favorite thing about it though?” he asks, and I nod. I’m actually curious to see what makes Silas tick.
“The price,” he says, and I blink.
“What?”
“This is a thirteen hundred and fifty dollar rifle,” he says, pointing out the expensive price tag. “I could never have afforded it before.” He opens a box, removes a silencer, and screws it on the muzzle, making the already impressive-looking gun look longer and meaner. “This place has all the stuff to trick it out,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or mumbling to himself. “Let’s go and test it out,” he says finally as he turns to me, his eyes glittering in excitement.
“Okay,” I shrug, and he hands me several boxes of ammo and some spare magazine clips to carry. The boxes aren’t that big, but they’re heavier than I expect.
Silas fills the pockets of his coat with a few more boxes and then grabs both the AR-15 and a camo-green tri-pod with three long metal legs.
I follow him up onto the roof, glad that the rain has cleared. The wind is blowing a bit, but the sun is out, drying up all but the largest puddles left in the parking lot. The stinky reek of zombie hits me before we even get close enough to look over the edge.
I had almost forgotten their terrible smell. The mall smells of new everything; it’s almost easy to pretend the world hasn’t gone to hell out here.
I watch Silas as he carefully sets up the AR-15 on its tripod. He shows me how to load the magazine and then slap my palm against the bolt catch to chamber a round. I humor him, but I have no interest in firing this monstrous thing. I’m barely comfortable with my tiny pistol!
Silas sets the carbine square to his shoulder and aims it down at the zombies that are teeming below. “Hey you dirty bastards!” he yells, causing them to jostle against each other in excitement as they try to figure out where their next meal will come from.
My stomach starts to do panicky flips when Silas starts stirring them up. I know we’re pretty safe up here on the roof, but purposely antagonizing a huge group of flesh-eating zombies just seems like such a bad idea.
He looks at me and grins, but it isn’t the droll grin from an hour ago in the camping store, this grin is hard and promises a little payback.
“You can reload the ammunition,” Silas appoints as he picks up the first magazine and demonstrates how to press the cartridges into the magazine. Since I don’t want to actually fire the gun, I don’t complain even though inside I rebel a little at being told what to do.
It’s pretty easy to catch on, and I have the hang of it by the time Silas is done with the first magazine. “Just fill them all up,” he says as he thrusts the full magazine into the bottom of the AR-15 and slaps the bolt catch.
I pause in my task for a moment as I watch him take careful aim at one of the zombies below. “I’m aiming for that redhead,” he points out to me, and I lean over a bit further to see if he actually makes the shot.
Silas squeezes the trigger one time and an empty round is ejected from the gun, almost hitting me in the cheek. I jump out of the way and watch as he misses the ghastly creature’s head. The shot lodges into the shoulder instead, making the red-haired zombie stumble.
“Damn,” Silas mutters as he readjusts and aims again. This time I’m ready for the ejection of the casing, and I’m not standing in the splash zone. The red-haired zombie goes down and stays down.
Silas looks at me with a smile. He looks like a kid with his first bicycle– only scarier.
He lets loose a series of rapid shots that puts a noticeable dent in the crowd. He fires dry and looks at me expectantly as he ejects the spent magazine and sets it down.
“Ready?” he asks, holding out his hand for the magazine I was supposed to be loading, and I flush. I’d been so wrapped up watching him rain a little payback down on the zombies that I’d totally forgotten about the task at hand. I’m half done at best, but it only takes me another minute to finish loading the magazine with the .223 cartridges.
I hand it to Silas, who snaps it into the gun and doesn’t waste much time burning through the thirty-round magazine.
I’m nearly finished loading another magazine when he stops. “You’re going too fast,” I complain, about ready to tell him to start loading his own bullets.
“Do you want a turn?” Silas offers, ignoring my complaint, and I shake my head.
“I think I’ll stick with my handgun for a while,” I say, hoping he won’t make a big deal about it. The gun looks like a lot to handle for a newbie. I’ve been watching it thump against Silas’ much stronger shoulder and rain empty shell casings out all over the place, and I’m a bit scared of its power.
Silas looks like he wants to insist that I try it, but thankfully he doesn’t press the issue, probably because he wants to keep it all for himself.
I hand him the magazine I just finished stuffing with bullets and stand up to brush the dust off my pants. “Where are you going?” Silas asks, watching me warily as I walk towards the door that leads back into the mall.
“I thought I’d go back downstairs, maybe find a few extra things to pack…hopefully we can go out and look for a car tomorrow, or later this afternoon.”
Silas is shaking his head before I even finish speaking.
“What?” I ask, not sure what exactly I’ve said that he’s opposed to.
“I don’t think you should go down there alone, not with that weird guy wandering around,” he says, and I give him a funny look.
“I won’t be alone, Silas. Ryan’s down there. Besides, I’m pretty sure Ryder is harmless—to my gender anyway. You and Ryan have more to worry about from him than I do,” I say teasingly and watch a guilty expression flash across Silas’ face.
“What is it?” I demand, certain I’m not going to like whatever he has to say. Silas stays mute and starts to pack up his rifle.
“Nothing,” he says at last. “I’ll come down with you. I should get busy anyway,” he says, standing up, and I’m instantly suspicious.
“Silas,” I say, my voice rising an octave, and Silas winces.
“Jane, its fine. Just trust me,” he says, but I shake my head.
“I do trust you, but you need to trust me too. I deserve to know whatever is putting that guilty look on your face. Did you do something to Ryder?” I ask, trying to think back to when Silas would’ve had the time to track Ryder down and do something terrible to him. I frown. He was with me all morning, he couldn’t have.
“Alright,” Silas says at last, raking his hands through his dark, close-cropped hair, “but you can’t freak out.” He insists, and just the fact that Silas feels the need to tell me not to freak out sends a shot of adrenaline coursing through my body. I know I’m not going to like whatever he says next.
“It’s Ryan…” he pauses, and my heart gives a painful squeeze in my chest. “He isn’t here anymore. He left earlier to find another vehicle.”
“He left the mall? Outside where the zombies are?” I manage to get out past a throat that suddenly feels like it’s choking on air.
Silas looks at me with a pitying look before nodding. “Yes, outside with the zombies.”
My world spins on its axis, and I have to lean back against the door to steady myself. I look at Silas, hoping to see him laugh or something, anything to indicate that this is his attempt at a dumb joke. Silas doesn’t laugh though, or even move. He’s staring at me, frozen, waiting to see what I’m going to do.
“You’re serious?” I ask, and Silas nods.
“He didn’t want me to tell you.”
It’s a slap in the face to hear this was Ryan’s idea. “How could you do this to me?” I ask, my voice starting to crack. “How could he?” I draw in a deep breath, trying to calm down. I’m very close to having another Camp Freedom-sized melt down.
Silas walks up to me and tries to put his hand on my shoulder, but I brush it off. If something happens to Ryan, I will never forgive either one of them.
“How could you let him go out alone?” I ask, and Silas shrugs uncomfortably.
“It’s what he wanted. He didn’t want to put you in danger for something that was his screw up.”
I glare at Silas for saying that. “Hey, his words, not mine,” Silas objects, but that doesn’t make me any less mad.
“You didn’t think that I would want to know, that I would want to go with him, regardless of whose fault it was?” I spit, and Silas shakes his head.
“Of course I thought you’d want to go. I argued with him not to do it, but he didn’t want to listen. Hell, I even offered to go in place of your
precious
Ryan, so don’t sit here and bitch at me for something I didn’t have any control over,” Silas yells back at me, and for a minute I recoil from his anger.
“You still could’ve told me,” I say despite him already being mad, and then I turn my back on Silas. I head towards the front because, logically, that’s where I think Ryan would leave from.
My heart stutters when I see a small crowd of zombies have migrated to the front of the mall; they’re bunched around the door like they still retain enough of their humanity to know that’s how they’ll get in. There is a dead one lying lifelessly further up the parking lot, and I have no idea if Ryan killed it, or the people who stole our truck.
I squint and look off into the distance, but there isn’t a lot to see. The road runs past the mall, the same road that we were driving on yesterday when the rain made it impossible to see. In the distance though, I can see a cluster of homes, probably a neighborhood.
I don’t see anything else, so I know in my gut that’s where Ryan would have gone. It’s probably where the zombies came from too because there doesn’t seem to be all that much around.
“Let’s kill the rest of these…” I trail off, I can’t even bring myself to say the word zombie right now. Silas doesn’t need any urging and sets his gun up again, this time at the front of the building.
The zombies fall to a hail of gunfire, black, sludgy blood spraying everywhere. I look down at the pile of bodies on the ground. They used to be people, but I feel nothing. We need to find Ryan.
More zombies lumber around the corner, drawn from back to front by the noise, and Silas takes them out too.
I reload magazines until my fingers get sore from popping in bullets, and then Silas stops. I look over at him. There are still probably thirty zombies left.
“Why did you stop?” I demand, my eyes scanning the horizon again, looking for Ryan—nothing.
“The barrel’s getting too hot. We need to let it cool down or we could risk it melting and wreck the gun.”
“Okay,” is all I say. I’m still not ready to make chit chat with Silas after he lied to me.
In the horizon I see movement, and my heart leaps in my chest—only to get slapped back down when I see that it isn’t one single person, or even a vehicle, but a slow shuffling hoard of zombies that are being drawn by the noise. Even with the silencer, the gun is not completely silent, and in the middle of nowhere, the sound carries.
“We need to get out of here,” I tell Silas, beginning to stand so I can stuff some of the magazines into my backpack.
Silas shakes his head. “That’s suicide,” he tells me, and I wince.
“It was good enough for Ryan,” I throw in his face, not letting him forget.
“That was when the zombies were distracted, now we’ve got them all riled up,” he corrects me, and I feel a flare of anger start to burn in my chest.
“Then kill them—kill them all!” I demand, and watch as Silas’ jaw tightens up. I know he’s pissed at me, but he’s also feeling guilty for his role in the Ryan thing.
Silas presses his finger to the barrel of the gun and taps it a couple times to gauge the temperature.
“How is it?” I ask, resisting the urge to poke it myself. I have no idea what I’d be feeling for.
“Good enough,” Silas shrugs as he leans forward, lines up a couple zombs, and presses the trigger. The harder he pulls the trigger back, the faster the gun dispels rounds. He lets out a couple short bursts that take down one of the shufflers before he holds it down and lets the gun go full auto.
I watch dispassionately as zombies are literally cut in half, their legs shot off with high-powered rounds. Their heads explode out the back like overripe melons. I wince a little, but tamp down on the pity I feel. These things aren’t people, not anymore.
Silas replaces his magazine four times and only stops when all the zombies are down. They aren’t all dead, but they are all down. I shiver as I watch the pile of corpses still wiggling in places. At least most are dead—ripped apart beneath a hail of gunfire. I don’t think we have to be worried about the survivors chasing us though, not with their injuries. I hand Silas another ammo clip and watch as he expertly snaps it in place.
“What now?” I ask, wanting to throw open the front doors and go charging up the hill and into the rows of houses to look for Ryan.
My heart dips. If something happens to him…I don’t even let myself finish that thought. I ruthlessly crush it and push it to the back of my mind.
“We’ve got to wait for that group to get closer,” Silas says, and I look impatiently at the lumbering hoard coming our way. They aren’t very fast, but they make up for it with exuberance. I watch as one of the pack leaders stumbles and falls, and the rest of the group just walks over top of him. They don’t even look down, somehow sensing that he isn’t something they can eat.
When the rest of the group passes, probably seventy or eighty of them by my rough count, all that’s left on the hill is a black stain surrounding lumps of shredded meat.
I shudder thinking what that many zombies could do to me…or Ryan, who’s actually out there somewhere.
A lump forms in my throat. I know I’m not really mad at him, at least not until he’s back here safe and sound—then I’ll let him have it!
“We need a plan,” I tell Silas, watching him lean over the edge to examine his handy work with the AR-15. I wrinkle my nose at the smell. Zombies smell bad enough on the outside, but their insides are even worse. My eyes water at the smell of their liquefied, rotting guts mixed with old, crusted bowel odor.
“I have a plan,” Silas says in true, surly Silas fashion. I look at him expectantly. I might be mad at him, but that doesn’t mean his plan won’t be a good one.
“We lure them over here and shoot them,” he says, and I send him a bitter smile.
“That easy?” I ask, and he nods.
“We’re going to need a lot more ammo, and I think we should attract them away from the doors—at the back against the brick would be the best. I don’t want them smashing in here.”
My heart jumps into my throat. “How could they?” I ask, thinking about the group that was living here incident free for the last couple weeks.
“There’s a lot of them, if they concentrated their efforts, I don’t know if it would hold,” Silas says, talking as he walks over to the back of the mall, bringing the AR-15 and tripod with him. “It’s hard to shoot straight down, so hopefully I will be able to get most of them before they’re directly underneath us.” He sets the gun up as casually as if he was at the shooting range for a little bit of practice. Then he stands up on the edge of the roof, making my stomach clench with anxiety.
“What are you doing?” I demand, resisting the urge to pull him down off the ledge, but he ignores me, of course.
“Hey you assholes!” Silas shouts, making my mouth fall open in shock. My pulse sky rockets as at least seventy-five pairs of eyes snap in our direction. Moving as one, the horde shifts direction and heads our way. Silas waves his arms and continues to yell.
“I
hate
you!” he shouts, jumping up and down.
He climbs back down calmly and looks at me. “We have to hurry, we only have ten or fifteen minutes before they get here.” I make an effort to close my gaping mouth, but I can’t peel my eyes away from Silas. He just let a whole lot of crazy slip out, and now he’s back to his old self like nothing happened.
“Come on!” he yells at me, turning at a jog and running towards the door. “We’re gonna need a lot more ammo.”
We reach the store, and I’m already sweating, partly from the harrowing run down the stairs, and partly because I know we are about to get battered with more zombies than I’ve ever seen.
“Grab a basket, we’ll just throw stuff in and separate it when we get back upstairs.” Silas commands, springing into action.
I take a minute to strap on my backpack in case things go bad. I really need to get in the habit of wearing it all the time, just in case. Then my icy fingers are snagging a bright red shopping basket, and Silas is recklessly throwing boxes of bullets and spare magazines inside.
“Get some handguns too,” Silas shouts at me. “Now!” he yells when I stare at him blankly.
I rush forward and grab two shiny pistols that are exactly the same; it will probably be easier not to drag around a bunch of different caliber bullets.
I hold them up to show Silas and he grunts, which I take to mean I did a satisfactory job.
“That’s a Glock, nice choice. You’re going to need the .45 bullets,” Silas says, showing me red ammo boxes with an Eagle on the top.
I hastily throw them in the basket as the first zombie hits the window. I let out a squeak but don’t actually scream.
“Damn,” Silas mutters when more join the first. They beat against the window until the glass shatters, falling to the ground with a tinkle that is almost drowned out by their moans.
The metal bars stop them from coming further into the store, which I am grateful for, but I know that not every store has this added protection.
“Let’s go,” Silas calls out loudly to be heard over the moaning. He picks up the basket, making his muscles bulge with the weight.
He doesn’t stop to see if I will follow as he races for the gate, drawing his gun from his hip as he runs.
I pull mine out too, my stomach churning in fear.
Please don’t let these monsters be inside the mall!
I pray fervently as I chase after his retreating back.
Silas stops just long enough to pull the gate across the camping store, protecting it from any zombies that might get inside the main mall, and then he’s racing down the middle of the mall. I can hear moans coming from inside a few of the stores.
Oh God.
I hope the metal anti-theft gates will be enough to keep them inside the stores. A zombie staggers out from one of the stores that doesn’t have a gate and Silas runs right into him.
The zombie lets out a growl as he’s thrown to the floor. Silas follows him down hard, spilling the contents of his basket as he falls. “Crap!” I yell as I point my pistol at the zombie who’s struggling to get back on his feet.
A slight pop rents the air, and the zombie’s brains dribble out a hole in the back of his head.
I look down at my gun, wondering if I accidentally pulled the trigger without realizing it, but that’s just crazy. I could never be uncertain about the kick back of the pistol; it both terrifies and exhilarates me when I shoot it.
“Jane, get down!” Silas yells, and I hit the ground without question. On my way down I catch a glimpse of him, sprawled on the ground, gun up and at the ready. I hear a snarl and another pop, and then a massive weight falls on top of me from behind and I feel like I’m being smothered.
I stiffen in terror and let out a scream as I try and claw my way out from underneath the zombie. I expect to feel the horrible bite at any moment, but as I keep struggling, it doesn’t come. It must be the zombie Silas shot, I try to reassure myself, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
I hear the rapid succession of more gun shots, and something cold and wet that can only be zombie ooze leaks onto the back of my neck.
I start to hyperventilate beneath the oppressive weight of the rotting carcass, and when the cold, wet grossness creeps along my neck and I feel it enter my ear—I vomit.
I feel something grab my ankle mid puke, and I scream, but that only makes me start to choke on my own chunks.
I’m dragged coughing and retching, out from beneath the zombie. I look up, expecting to see a flesh eating monster baring its chipped teeth at my leg, but it’s Silas. He stands there holding my leg for a second, looking dumbfounded when he sees me, and I can imagine that I’m quite the sight covered in zombie gore and vomit.
“Did you just puke underneath that zombie?” Silas asks, his mouth quirking up at the corners, and I tug my leg from his hands and struggle to my feet, eying the zombie that had trapped me. He’s huge, like firemen probably had to cut him out through a wall, huge!