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KATE
I watch the scene unfolding before me in increments of ever-increasing horror. Inside the gem and mineral shop are two dark-haired men. They are ducked beneath the large front window, which has been obliterated by gunfire.
Behind a car outside the shop are three people I peg as belonging to Mr. Rosario. Their hobo clothing, coupled with the fact that they’re packing firepower, is a dead giveaway. They pop from behind the car and shoot at the gem and mineral shop. The men inside return fire. All the while the two groups yell obscenities at one another.
“What the hell?” Johnny says. The two of us crouch behind the statue of the president in the plaza. “Rival drug gangs?”
“I think so.” Honestly, I don’t care who the fuck they are. They have Carter, Jenna, and Reed.
“What are we going to do?” Johnny asks.
“Our people are in the shop. We’re going around to see if there’s a back way in.” With any luck, we can free them, get the hell out of here, and let these drug goons kill each other off.
“Okay.” Johnny licks his lips. “We could really use some guns of our own right now.”
He isn’t wrong. As it is, we have our new knives from the shop and the kitchen knives we took earlier. Johnny has his spear and I have my screwdriver. We’re not exactly armed for a gunfight.
Thanks to Michael Jackson, who still blares in the distance, the plaza has remained mostly empty of the undead. The few still milling around don’t notice us; their attention is on the gunfire.
Good. Let the idiots with the guns deal with the undead.
It doesn’t take long for Johnny and me to make our way to the parking lot behind the row of shops. We dispatch three zombies on the way. We’re getting so used to this, it doesn’t even slow us down.
A row of doors faces the parking lot, all of them leading into the various storefronts on the other side.
“Which one goes into the gem shop?” Johnny asks.
“That one, I think.” I point to a metal security door. Above it hangs a wooden painting of a purple amethyst.
I try the handle. It’s locked. Shit. I yank and pull, but the door doesn’t budge.
“We’re not getting through that,” Johnny says. “Those security doors are strong.”
I glare at the row of doors. Of course, the gem shop is the only one with the metal security door.
“Maybe we can get in through one of the adjoining shops,” Johnny suggests.
“Good idea.”
We try the shop to the immediate left. Locked. We hurry to one on the right.
A hiss of relief escapes my lips as the door swings open. Finally. A stroke of luck. “I was beginning to wonder if—”
A growl cuts me off. I turn in time to see a zombie rushing at me out of the dark. It’s a woman in jeans and a blazer. Her hair is in a neat bun. If not for her ripped sleeve and the blood soaking her right side, I could almost mistake her for one of the living.
I raise my knife, but Johnny is faster. He leaps in front of me. The zombie woman plows right into his spear. It crumples the front of her face. Black blood and pasty brain parts spill out.
Johnny and I remain in the doorway, waiting and listening. Nothing else moves inside the shop.
“Thanks,” I whisper. He nods, lips compressed in a tight line.
We creep into what turns out to be a futon shop. It isn’t until I take in the various brightly colored fabrics and grain of the wood frames that I realize the lights are on.
“This building has electricity,” I say.
“Must be solar power,” Johnny replies. “A lot of businesses have them. The city gives out big tax credits to anyone who installs them.”
With the sun setting outside, I appreciate the electricity to see by, although I worry about being spotted by the gun-toting psychos outside. All the more reason to get out of here as quickly as possible.
I explore the wall shared with the gem and mineral shop. It’s a slim shot, but maybe there’s a connecting door between the two.
No such luck.
“We’re going to have to go through the wall,” I tell Johnny.
“How are we going to do that?”
“It’s just sheet rock.” I pick up a small end table, hefting it into the air. “We just bash our way through.”
To illustrate my point, I slam the table into the wall. Under normal circumstances, I’d worry about all the noise. Between Michael Jackson and the gunfire outside, our noise is muffled.
Johnny picks up a large paperweight and joins me. We hammer and smash at the sheetrock. Hope flares in my chest as the white plaster crumbles away beneath the onslaught. Another few minutes, and we’ll have a hole large enough to fit through.
My table connects with something hard. Really hard. The impact sends a shockwave up both arms, causing me to stumble back.
What the hell? Whatever I hit is most definitely not sheetrock.
Johnny comes to the same conclusion. He lowers the paperweight and reaches through the hole we made. His knuckles rap on something solid.
“Damn it,” he mutters. “These buildings are made of old redwood planks. No way we’re busting through it without an axe.” He hurls the paperweight to the ground.
I could go back to Trading Post. I could find an axe there. Except that would take too much time. Who knows what could happen in the twenty or thirty minutes it would take to retrieve an axe? Carter could be dead by then. Carter, Jenna, and Reed.
I grit my teeth. Fuck. I slam my end table against the wall a few more times in a fit of frustration.
The sheetrock crumbles against my attack. A spark arcs out in my direction.
I yelp in surprise and jump back. A tiny arc of flame licks out from the wall.
“Woah,” Johnny says. “Electrical fire. You must have hit one of the live wires—”
The tiny flame abruptly goes from a dancing finger of light to a burst of fire. It races up the exposed length of redwood. A gust of black smoke rolls over me. Coughing and waving the smoke away from my eyes, I fall back.
When half the wall suddenly bursts into flame, I shout in surprise. In retrospect, I should have considered the fact that the redwood is old and dry.
“Um, Kate?” Johnny says. “I think we need to get out of here.”