LZR-1143: Infection Page 6

  Five or six creatures had emerged from behind the linen store and the adjoining neighborhood behind the tree line, dozens more trailing behind. The first few were already to the cruiser, and one had met its demise under the Ford. But its body was apparently caught up in the undercarriage, preventing the trooper from flooring it. His window was still open, and the pistol came out again, this time pointing away from us, toward the attackers. They swarmed the open window, arms stretching forward, reaching for the trooper.

  I got out, dragging Fred behind me as Kate crossed in front of the car and took his other arm. I looked through the front passenger door window as Fred got his footing, examining No-Name briefly. He was as dead as… well, he was really dead. The bullet had entered through the left temple, and had taken off the entire back of the skull. A bloody gray lump matted with hair stood out from the back of his skull, evidence of the exit wound that had resulted in the shattered window. Poor crazy bastard.

  Before turning away, I noticed a bracelet on his arm. It was one of those hospital bracelets that are impossible to take off without scissors or a knife, and it seemed out of place considering neither Fred nor Erica had worn one.

  But I did.

  Recognizing the mark of my kind, I reached through the broken window, grabbing his wrist and turning the bracelet toward me. Identification number, and then name: Seymour Williams.

  What the fuck? How did he make it out of the maximum-security ward? He was one of the new admits: a truly violent psychopath. How could he have found his way to Kate’s group? He couldn’t have, unless someone had let him out and locked the door behind him. This begged the uncomfortable question: had I been locked in?

  “Let’s go! Aim for the Target,” Kate yelled at me, snapping me out of my short trance as I put my shoulder under Fred’s arm and helped him forward. He wobbled unsteadily, but was able to move. Several creatures moaned behind us, recognizing our presence. Another blast. Loud cursing, engine revving, then another blast. And another. We crossed the empty parking lot in darkness, the glowing red target a promising Mecca.

  Several parked cars, left in the parking lot for reasons unknown, cast shadows we avoided, as we moved as quickly as we could across the dark cement. Fred groaned, and Kate looked back.

  “We can stay ahead of them, but if the doors are locked here, we may have problem,” I said, also looking to our rear. The lights in the store were off. Not a good sign.

  We reached the beige concrete wall between the garden center and the glass entrance doors and moved toward the latter, Kate supporting Fred as I grabbed the handle and pulled. Damn.

  I moved towards the automatic doors, waving my arms like a wild man in front of the sensors. Nothing. Double damn.

  I looked to the parking lot. They were moving steadily toward us, a fat woman in a moo-moo in the lead, hands opening and closing slowly on the end of outstretched arms, head cocked to the side, eyes staring forward, locked on our group. Behind her, a tall man in a tee shirt and jeans, a cell phone still clipped to his pants, bloody arm revealing his bite wound. Following him, a small child, mouth torn slightly open at the cheek, hair missing from one side of the head, where white bone showed through.

  “Garden center,” I said shortly, grabbing Fred by the arm.

  “Pancake,” was his woozy reply, as Kate hefted the other side of his inert form.

  We reached the chain link fencing surrounding the melange of peace lilies, paving stones, and brightly colored annuals. The door was no use, obviously, but the chain link was open on the top. No telling whether we had access to the store from the garden, or whether that way was locked too, but these things couldn’t climb, so we might be safe for a short time if got up and over.

  Fatty was about forty feet away, and getting closer. Her retinue followed closely behind, like a line at a buffet, all with a hungry purpose.

  I looked at Fred, who still looked dazed and uneasy. “Can you climb, buddy?” I asked, as nicely and calmly as possible, gesturing to the fence. “We need to get in here.”

  Thirty feet.

  “Pancake,” he nodded, tripping forward and grabbing the fence. He started to climb, and I helped him up, boosting him to the top until he was bent over, his chest hanging over the other side, legs kicking toward the parking lot.

  Twenty feet.

  Kate went up next, and I levered her feet over the top. As she reached the summit, Fred fell heavily to the concrete on the other side, landing squarely on his buttocks and grunting in pain. Kate’s lab coat flipped over her head and her hair veiled her face, as she twisted and came down on her feet.

  Ten feet.

  I jumped as high as I could, grabbing the links and pulling up hard. Cold steel dug into the soft flesh of my fingers, joints unused to exertion groaning in distress. My feet scrambled for purchase on the smooth steel, and my sneaker caught a break, providing enough traction for a final surge. Searching, erratic fingers brushed my ankle, as my legs were thrown over the top of the fence, the metal bar capping the links jutting suddenly and uncomfortably into my crotch.

  I exhaled in pain as the crowd reached the fence. Dozens of bodies pressed against the web of metal and it shook, nearly jostling me from my perch. Catching myself, I quickly jumped to the ground, nearly missing a rack of neatly stacked spice plants for the home garden.

  We again grabbed Fred and moved toward the sliding glass doors into the store. Behind us, the fence shook with the sounds of hunger and the moans followed us as we disappeared between rows of hydrangea.

  Chapter 7

  The double doors leading to the inside of the store were locked. Apparently, whoever had closed up shop here had had time to cross the T’s and dot the I’s, thinking perhaps that they’d be back later. The fence continued to shake, and the moaning was getting old fast.

  “If we break the glass, and those things get in, we’ve got issues,” I said, hefting the cement edging brick I had picked up, as Kate leaned against the wall and helped Fred to an Adirondack chair sitting in a display next to the door. Stating the obvious must be a symptom of exhaustion.

  “And if we don’t break the glass, and those things get in, we’re fucked.” She replied, jumping on board the obvious-statement express. This with a tired sigh and hands placed on hips.

  “Fair enough,” was the reply, as I lifted the brick to shoulder level. “You think this thing is armed, like that one at the hospital?”

  “You think it isn’t?” she asked sarcastically, clearly exasperated. “What the fuck does it matter? You think we need a better advertisement of our location than the ‘free lunch’ sign that our friends put up by huddling around that gate? I think in is better than out, and that’s about it right now. Just break the goddamned door. I’m sick of hearing these fuckers whine.” Her voice and her attitude betrayed her exhaustion, wits frayed after days of running.

  I tossed the brick, and the top pane of glass on the left hand door shattered, a horn beginning to bleat in short, concise bursts. Jesus, I hope the front doors are stronger stuff, or our stay here could be really short-lived. I used a length of hose to knock out the shards from the frame, and climbed through. The lights were out, but accent lighting above the shelving provided enough to see our way.

  Kate climbed in and gestured to Fred, who followed suit.

  “I’ll find the manager’s office and get the lights up and the alarm off,” I offered, “You guys might want to get something in front of this door. Try the furniture section, get a chest of drawers, a futon, something like that.” Kate nodded, and grabbed Fred’s hand, leading him down the aisle of fertilizer and gardening tools.

  “Wait,” I said, grabbing a shovel from the rack next to me and jogging after them. “Take this, just in case.”

  Kate looked at the shovel and sighed. “You’re probably right,” she said wearily. “I’ve still got this,” patting her lab coat pocket, “but I’ve only got three or four shots left, and my aim leaves something to be desired.”

  I grabbed a
shovel, and walked toward the front of the store. From the outside, the fence rattled and the moans continued, following me further into the store. Passing racks of chips, soda and candy, my stomach, long neglected, reminded me when I had last eaten. As if in sympathy, a wave of exhaustion hit me, and my legs weakened. Adrenaline must be running low, I thought, turning the corner, through the dog food, the shampoo and the soap.

  I turned into a hallway leading to a break room and restrooms, and reached for the door to the manager’s office. A poster on my right caught my eye and my hand paused briefly above the doorknob. It described the emergency exit procedure in case of fire, giving a map of the store, and I studied the layout of the place. Three other entrances: the front, a rear exit that only opens out, and a door into the loading dock, which looked to be protected by another, larger external door like the one we had to open out of the parking garage at Hotel Crazy. From the manager’s office, the sudden, unmistakable sound of movement behind the closed door brought me back to the task at hand.

  Backing away from the poster and staring at the door, I raised my shovel. I could hear my own breathing come in short spurts. My pulse throbbed in my temples as I strained to discern any more identifying information from the next room.

  Could one of those things have been left behind? Cold, dead, inarticulate fingers leaving it bereft of the ability to turn a simple doorknob? Leaving it locked in an internal office until dinner came looking for it?

  The alarm continued to blare its shrill alert, continuing to serve as an audible beacon announcing our presence. It had to be shut off. The more zombies that gathered at the fence, the greater chance they got in here. If it was human, it would respond to me if I spoke, right?

  “Hello?”

  Nothing. No more movement from inside, either.

  “We’re looking for somewhere to hide-we’re not looters or muggers or rapists, and sure as hell aren’t those things outside.”

  Still nothing.

  “No one has been bitten, and we’re just trying to get the lights on.”

  God, I hope this guy didn’t have a gun, I thought, as I reached for the door handle.

  Suddenly, the knob turned and the door flew open; I was staring at a small, middle-aged, balding man, wearing the uniform of a Target employee, complete with name tag that read Earl. My eyes strayed to the more important aspect of Earl’s appearance: he was also holding an ax.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I squealed, so surprised that I almost didn’t notice how very unmanly my girlish shriek of shock had sounded. Almost.

  “What the hell am I doing? What the fuck are you doing here! How’d you get in? You didn’t let those things in, did you? Fuck!”

  A shrill, nasal voice, as excited as I was, and much more high strung. He hefted the ax; I flinched and jerked my arm up, bringing the shovel into clear view.

  “No! Hold on, just calm down!” Easier said than done. “Look, we were running from those things, a crazy cop just splattered our friend all over the interior of a compact car, and we narrowly avoided being the main course on a crazy mother fucker all you can eat buffet line. Put the ax down, and let’s just talk for a minute.”

  Sounded reasonable. Well, under the circumstances at least. Reasonable was becoming a relative term these days.

  The ax dropped a fraction of an inch. “Who’s we?” he asked, looking nervously over my shoulder. “There’s more of you?”

  “Can we lose the siren and get some lights on first? My friends are trying to barricade the door to the garden center, and we’re losing time here.”

  He looked at me, and then over my shoulder again. The ax came down all the way, and he backed into the office, eyes still on me, and typed in a code to a panel next to the doorway. The siren died. He diverted his eyes to the panel for a split second, and flipped a couple switches that I heard click home. Ah-ha; let there be light.

  “How did you get in?” he asked again, his desire to deal with the open door apparently winning out over his distrust of me, as he moved past me into the store.

  “Magic,” I joked, following behind, looking for some amicable bonding. He glanced back over his shoulder at me, glaring briefly.

  “A brick,” I said shortly. And then, my smart-ass winning over my assessment of his personality, “a magic brick.”

  Fuck him if he can’t take a joke.

  “Dumb ass,” He threw back, moving faster toward the garden center.

  Nice come back, you clever bastard.

  “Listen, we had about zero options, man. It was either brick our way in here and risk a barricade, or stay out there, strip to our birthday suits, baste ourselves with butter, and jump on one of those damn grills that are on special outside.”

  He didn’t answer, but shook his head and turned toward the garden center doors. Kate and Fred were there already, struggling to upend a metal futon against the opening in the door. A particleboard chest of drawers blocked each of the sliding doors, and a couple metal Tiki torches secured the chests against the doors by lodging against the shelving units on either side.

  “Who’s this,” Kate asked, understandably wary after our last human encounter, and unconsciously grabbing the end of her shovel.

  “This is Earl!” I said cheerily, pointing in mock excitement at his nametag.

  She stared at me briefly, questioningly, her eyes then moving to follow him as he passed her and looked outside to the fence.

  “Jesus!” exclaimed Earl, his tone rising as he took in the scene outside.

  I looked out again. There were more than before.

  Many, many more.

  We all chipped in, piling items on the barricade. The futon went against the window, then some bags of fertilizer to keep it in place, some more Tiki torches for stability, and some chairs from housewares. It looked strong enough to give us warning that they had gotten in. That’s about it.

  As an afterthought, we moved a set of table and chairs from the outdoor dining display, and put them behind our masterpiece pile o’ crap.

  “OK, Earl, so we’re sorry for busting in here, but we just barely made it out of the hospital alive, almost lost our heads to a crazy cop outside, and are just looking for a safe place to crash and recharge. Are you alone?”

  He looked at me inclined, I think, to tell me to fuck off.

  But then he looked at Kate, who was pretty even in disheveled exhaustion, and his face softened. “I’m the manager of the store,” he said, self-importantly, “and we sent everyone home when the crazies started appearing. I didn’t approve of the decision but it came from corporate. Regional corporate, anyway. There’s always some bullshit reason for people to go home: bird flu, AIDS, cancer, etc.”

  This guy must have been an absolute jewel to work for.

  “I thought it would blow over, but the regional guys called and told me to close it up. I locked up and stayed about an hour and a half to do the books.” He looked toward the barricade, scratching his nose.

  “I went to leave a couple hours later, and the parking lot was already full of these things, most moving toward the linen superstore across the street, some milling around in my lot. A couple of them were clustered around a car out there, trying to get in, but I couldn’t make out what they were after. Something was moving inside, but… Anyway, it looked like a bunch were ganged up outside the linen place like they are outside the garden center here. Maybe some people like us were hiding in there and they knew it.” He glared at me, as if revealing his presence here wasn’t somehow inevitable.

  “So I kept real quiet, turned off the lights, grabbed this,” he patted his ax, “and locked my door. I had been listening to the reports on the radio until yesterday evening. Then it went dead.”

  “Your radio?”

  “Not the radio. The radio waves. Nothing. Dead air, no emergency broadcast signals, no recorded message, nothing.” He was clearly bothered by this. This bothered me too.

  “How’s that possible? I saw live news just this afternoo
n. Why would the radios be out but the television networks still be broadcasting?”

  He shook his head brusquely. “What you saw wasn’t live. They’ve been feeding loops of news through, cycling every hour the same stuff as before.” His hand brushed wearily over his eyes as he yawned.

  “Television has been out for two days now. Radio was the last thing to go. Well, ‘cept for the internet that is. And even that has been shoddy. Networks goin’ down, people playin’ pranks and whatnot. The major sites, CNN, Fox, MSNBC…they were all up for the first two days, then started to drop off. Some bloggers think that the servers were in buildings that got burned up, or the techs that ran ‘em… well, can’t run ‘em anymore. Who knows.”

  His face was tired, but his eyes betrayed his fear. “All I know is that it’s some fucked up shit out there, and it don’t seem to be gettin’ any better.” Suddenly, an inquisitive, worried look on his plain, chubby face.

  “What hospital you say you came from?” he asked, looking again at Kate’s lab coat.

  “We didn’t - ” I said, while Kate answered simultaneously, “King’s Park”.

  He grimaced and turned away. “Of course.”

  Glancing briefly at Kate, who realized her error too late, I stepped forward towards Earl. I didn’t have the patience or the time for the stigma scene. “Just point us toward house wares, and we’ll go to sleep. You won’t hear a peep from us the rest of the night, and we’ll figure out what we’re doing tomorrow, OK?”

  I was very tired, and this guy’s bitching was starting to wear on me. I tried very hard to loom imposingly, banking on his Napoleon complex to peter out in the face of larger size.

  Besides, he wasn’t about to try to kick us out, even if he wanted to, as we outnumbered him. As much as he probably hated it, we were all he had right now.