Zombie Apocalypse Plan - Part 3

Part 1
_ Incubation _
http://padawansofwriting.blogspot.com/2012/01/zombie-apocalypse-plan-revised.html

Part 2
_ Accumulation _
http://padawansofwriting.blogspot.com/2012/01/zombie-apocalypse-plan-accumulation.html


Part 3

_ Aggravation _

With my gun cocked and aimed, it felt so right.  Like I was back on duty.  Like I was in the middle of a war-torn desert and not downtown St. Louis.  But now that we were driving away from the scene, now that the adrenaline was wearing off and we were not in immediate danger, I began to feel sick. 

What was happening?  Did I really just gun down a civilian?

Never mind that she was infected or attacking the girl.  I killed a civilian.  And it was easy.  The world was slipping out of control. 

“Sh-should we go back the way we came?” Denise asked.

It took several moments to realize the question was directed towards me. 

“Yeah.”

I heard him sob once, a great heaving noise.  Morgan put her arm around him. 

Tracey apparently could not stand the silence, “So like where do we go now?”

I only had one thought in my head: home.  To Hannah.  Before something like this happened to her.  I closed my eyes pushing the thought out of my head.  My stomach continued to churn. 

“Well, right now we are heading to the highway to get out of the city,” said Denise. 

“Then what?” 

Denise turned her head to me. 

I didn’t look at her. 

“Well…”

“Who the hell knows,” said Morgan. 

“Morgan, language,” warned her mother.

“Really, Mom.  People are literally turning into zombies and you’re worried about me cursing?”

Denise gave her a look through the rearview mirror. 

“We need mo’ guns,” said Jay.

I turned, my raised eyebrows questioning.

“You about out right?” he asked me.

I release the clip and checked.  Five rounds left.

“That’s what I thought.  Here on the right.”

I saw a pawn shop come into view. 

“Good old Sam Light.”

(3: Stock up when you can)

“Pull to the side here,” I directed as we neared the corner of Olive Street.  “Stay here and keep the car running.”

“Do you need help?” Morgan asked.

“Morgan, no,” came her mother’s reaction.

“Mo-om.”

“We’ll need someone to help us carry everything,” I said reluctantly. 

Denise looked at me, her eyes hardening.  I nodded.  Their meaning could not have been clearer: bring her back safe.

Jay approached the gated entryway and gave it a push.  It didn’t budge.  He jammed it with his shoulder.  Still nothing.  “Step back,” he said to Morgan and me. 

He pulled his .38 from his waistband and aimed at the lock. 

The iron-bar gate swung free. 

Jay gave us a satisfied half smile.  “They’re running a new special: five-finger discount.”

Morgan let out a brief laugh. 

I tried the door, and it eased open. 

“Let’s go,” I said. 

All the lights were off and the dingy, barred windows only let in so much light.  The back counter, behind which Jay informed us housed the weapons, was plunged into shadow. 

“Hello?”  I called out loudly.  There was no answer, human or otherwise.  Then more quietly, “We need to find some flashlights.” 

“We can use my phone,” said Morgan.

I held my tongue, but thought, great we can collect a cache of firearms with the dim screen of a cell phone.

But she turned on the flashlight feature, which was a surprisingly bright LED light. 

“Oh. Great,” I said. 

“Mine’s not that bright,” said Jay as he got out his flip phone and used the screen to pick his way to the back counter.  The shotguns lined the back wall and the pistols and ammo were stocked in the glass counter. 

“The key’s gotta be around here somewhere,” I said. 

“Aren’t we in a hurry?”  asked Morgan. 

Jay’s mouth formed another half smile, “She’s got a point.”  He vaulted over the glass counter, and began to gather some of the shotguns.  “We gonna need something to carry all of these in.”

“The cases have to be around here somewhere,” I said.  “Or maybe a duffel bag.  I’ll look in the back.”  I looked at Morgan, “Look for something to break the glass then.”

She found a baseball bat.  Probably signed by a reasonably famous Cardinal.  She raised it over her head and brought it down in the middle of the glass case.  The crash was loud and made more jarring by the dim light of the store. 

I made my way to the open entryway behind another counter to the back area holding Morgan’s cell phone aloft.  I made a cursory visual sweep, no bags or gun cases, but a door that was ajar and a hallway off to the right probably to the back exit. 

I searched for the light switch.  Upon finding it I flicked it on.  But nothing happened. 

“Are you doing all right without this light?”  I yelled to Morgan.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  I can sorta see without it.”

“You find a bag yet?”  asked Jay.

“No.” 

I inspected the room more thoroughly now.  There were rows of shelves lining the wall to my left, each crammed with stuff.  Some shabby coats, a Lost and Found box with orphaned mittens and gloves, random machine parts, some bicycle wheels and electronics from DVD players to stereo systems.  No gun cases.  No duffel bags. 

I eyed the propped open door.  “Hello?” I called again.  I switched the phone to my left hand and took the 9mm in my right.  I used the pistol to ease the door open.  I let out a sigh, no zombies.  I inspected the closet.  “We’ve got gun cases for the shotguns here!”  I yelled.

I picked out the four largest cases and swung them over my shoulder.  There was a shelf above my head with a strap just visible.  The strap to a bag or backpack?  I reached up to pull whatever it was down. 

I let out a yell as a man’s disembodied head fell to the floor on top of the duffel bag. 

Jay came into the back room, “Garret?” 

“It’s a head.” 

“Shi-it.”

“I think we need to leave.”

Jay took two of the gun cases from me and we rejoined Morgan in the main room.  She had been placing ammo into the recyclable bags that Sam Light sold for $3.99, but had paused, looking out the glass doors. 

“Did you hear something?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t hear anything from the back room.”

“Hurry.  Les get some guns in these,” said Jay, dropping the cases onto the floor.

Morgan returned to packing up the ammo.   Jay and I started to take the shotguns and place them in the cases. 

“Make sure you get shotgun shells,” I said to Morgan. 

She pointed to another bag on the floor.  “Already got a bag full.”

“Good.  I wonder if there is anything else here that we might need…”

“Unless you think we’ll need some grilles and chains Flavor Flav style, I doubt it.”

Jay laughed. 

I smiled, “You have a point there.”

Morgan’s mother, Denise, burst through the front doors.  Morgan dropped the box of ammo she was holding and ran to her, seeing the look of panic on her face.

“What is it, Mom?”

“She was acting so strange.”  The middle-aged woman’s hands shook.

“What?  Mom?  Is it Tracey?”

“Keep packing,” I said to Jay. 

He opened his mouth to argue, but I walked toward the front of the store before he could start. 

“Was she…”

“No,” said Morgan, before I could finish the question.  Her hazel eyes glinted in defense of her friend.  “She was not bitten.  I would have seen.  She would have told me.”

“Morgan, sweetie…” her mother couldn’t get the words out.

I went to the door to take a look for myself. 

“Whas going on?” called Jay, still packing up the guns.

“I don’t see her outside.”  The car looked empty.  There was nothing in the window.  Denise’s driver-side door was open.  I turned back to the mother and daughter.

Smack.

The body reeled backwards from the impact with the door. 

“Tracey!” Morgan screamed, running to the door.  I caught her arm before she made it there.  “Let go!”

“Morgan, no!” Denise cried.

Morgan struggled against my grip until she got a better look at her friend.  Her brown hair was the same, but the rest she hardly recognized.  Her skin was now ashen, and droopy.  The blood vessels in her eyes were swollen so much it looked like they were streaked red.  A trail of spit leaked from her mouth, and her lips were puffy and cracked.  There were dark spots under her eyes and on her arms.  She was already beginning to decay.

“Oh my god,” Morgan whispered.  Tears welled up in her eyes. 

“Morgan,” I started. 

She turned around.  “What are you going to do?”

My chest constricted.  The high school girl was asking if I was going to shoot her friend.  Her lip quivered. 

“I’m not go-”

“Whaaaa!” Jay’s scream interrupted me.  “They in here!”

We all turned.  Zombies were pouring from the back room.  I ran back to help Jay with all of our weapons.  I slung one of the gun cases on my shoulder.  I could hear runs rattle against each other.  “You put two guns in one case?”  I yelled at Jay. 

He gave me a look, “You real worried about that now?”  He popped the three closest oozing corpses in the head.  They dropped.

I took out two more with my .9mm then slung the bag of shell casings over my other shoulder.  Morgan had come back to the counter.  Denise was screaming shrilly at her, “No!  What do you think you’re doing?”

The blonde 16 year old with her hair in a ponytail picked up the bat she used to smash the counter earlier.  She met my eyes and nodded.  Her face set, lips forming a thin line. 

“Out the front,” I said, jaw clenched.  I fired two more rounds.

Jay looked at me, there’s still one zombie to go through that way.  He ran to the glass door, and using one of the Sam Light shotguns, shattered the door, and brought down what used to be Tracey. 

“Keys?” I shouted to Denise as Morgan and I ran to the front of the store behind Jay.  Denise fished them out of her pocket and tossed them to me.  I grabbed Morgan’s hand as we get to the door.  “Don’t look down.” 

But she wriggled her rough hand out of mine and stopped on the threshold of the store. 

(4: Don’t get sentimental.)

Denise ushered her into the backseat.  Jay slammed the passenger side door shut as I got in the driver’s side.  I glanced in the rearview mirror.  The daughter leaned into her mother in the backseat.  She stroked her daughter’s hair.  I turned the key.  Here we go again.