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ABOUT A WEEK AFTER the initial outbreak, sporadic Internet radio broadcasts said things were better in the South. More room to spread out. More places to hide. Most of New Jersey was crowded, too metropolitan. People were piled on top of one another in apartment buildings and high-rises. Even in the suburbs, some of the homes were built so closely together that, “you could cuss a cat and get fur in your mouth,” as his mother would say. No wonder the infection moved so quickly. Should have gone south when I had the chance.
Summer made traveling much easier. He couldn’t imagine trying to make this trek in the unpredictable weather of a northern winter. Stay out of sight and travel only during the day. In his experience, the monsters didn’t like the daytime, and the heat seemed to make them slower than usual. They also rotted faster. The South was a perfect place. It was home.
He’d traveled to New Jersey with the noble intention of teaching. It was the hippie gene he inherited from his mother. Despite his laid-back demeanor, he gained the respect of his students by being tough but fair, and earned the respect of his older, more experienced colleagues by his classes’ scores on the state tests.
Granted, he had been laid off and rehired four times in his five-year career because the school board played fast and loose with taxpayers’ funds. Non-tenured teachers were always the first to go. Since he was always fired and rehired every year, it was always technically his first year. It was fine by him because he was able to collect unemployment during the summer and walk right back into his old classroom in September, guaranteed. Who else were they going to find to teach science in an inner-city high school?
His summer had been uneventful. Unemployment money deposited on time, there was money for liquor and pot, and the library offered an air-conditioned place to read and relax. Fine and dandy, that is, until one of his roommates, Troy, brought the infection home the second week of summer vacation. Bleary-eyed from his afternoon nap, Sky had thought Troy was high. It was summer break, after all. Just in time, however, the grunting and the milky eyes told him Troy was more than tripped out on good weed. And the smell. As many zombie movies as he’d seen, they didn’t prepare him for the smell of three-day-old garbage that what-used-to-be-Troy brought with him.
He’d bashed in his roommate’s skull with his aluminum baseball bat and puked his lunch on top of Troy’s still-twitching body. It took him a half hour before he could gather himself enough to heave his now-dead-for-real friend out of his bedroom window into the alley below.
His other roommate, Robert, never came back. Telephone calls to friends and his family didn’t go through. Beyond frantic reports about safe havens, which changed by the hour, he didn’t know what was going on. So he stayed put, raiding food from the other apartments in the house until the radio broadcasts stopped and the groans of the restless undead in the streets became too much.
Weeks later, after walking through an abandoned neighborhood that was surprisingly zombie free, he spotted the familiar red-and-white sign of a drugstore. His backpack, well-worn from weekend hiking trips, was nearly full of supplies, but he needed antibacterial ointment and was hoping to snag some soda. It would be warm, yeah, but the caffeine and sugar would be a welcome refresher.
Once inside, he noticed the shelves seemed relatively untouched, save for a few scattered items on the floor. He paused first before he moved any farther, listening for any indication of movement. Spotting a bottle of glass cleaner on the floor, he scooped it up and tossed it across the store. After the initial crash, there was silence.
Sky breathed through his mouth as he counted off a full minute on his self-winding watch. His gum, which he chewed as defense against relentless putrid stink, was no match for the scent of rotten broccoli and dead bodies in such an enclosed space. At least there were no answering sounds, no creepy dragging that indicated anyone, living or undead, was here with him. He snatched a couple of packs of gum from the candy display beneath the cashier counter, opened a pack, and popped yet another stick in his mouth. He savored the burn of the cinnamon flavoring on his tongue as he allowed the aluminum wrapper to flutter to the floor. Sky shoved the packs in his pocket and took a quick look around. The soda cases were usually up front.
Late-afternoon sunlight streamed through the high windows, providing him with more than enough illumination. His shoes made no sound on the carpeted floor, and his breathing was loud in his ears. Sky picked through the aisles, grabbing cough syrup and anything else he thought he might need, working his way toward the gold mine of sodas at the front of the store. He hummed under his breath, enjoying the respite from the sun and the heat outside.
Behind him, the sound of doors slamming and loud excited voices made him freeze, holding a small box of antibacterial ointment in his hand. Who the hell are these people?
Too many teacher workshops on mob mentality, bullying, and gangs had made him leery of organized groups on his trek south. Group dynamics could shift so quickly. He could find himself in the middle of some bullshit if someone in the group took a dislike to him. Oddly enough, to pick on the individual while you were in a gang was somehow a show of strength.
Today, he wasn’t going to be that individual.
Sky stepped on the bottom shelf and pushed himself up, craning his neck to survey the selling floor. From his vantage point, the entrance to the stockroom was on the opposite wall of the high windows, near the pharmacy. Easy enough to get into the stockroom and find his way to the freight entrance. From outside, the voices got closer, more agitated. Moving quietly, he ran to the pharmacy, hopped the counter, and pushed open the stockroom door.
Once inside, he shone the flashlight around, getting his bearings. Sliding the bat back into its holding tab on his pack, he shouldered his way through a swinging door. He found himself in a room with tables and a vending machine in the corner. The break room.
Sky swept the beam around, and the light picked up half-eaten, putrefied lunches and an unopened bottle of soda on a table. Unable to resist, he twisted off the top and took a long drink of the warm, sugary liquid before placing it back on the table and continuing his search.
His attention was caught by another door to the left of the vending machines. Thinking it might be the exit, he wound his way through the tables and pulled it open.
It was no exit. The stink alerted him first. Before the beam could settle on one of the rotted faces, he turned and ran. His heart thumped crazily, and he slammed his hip against the edge of a table as he escaped.
Back in the stockroom, he cursed. The double-hinged door could not be locked. The noise from outside was going to draw them out any moment. He backed away from the door, wondering if he should take his chances with the gang, when he stepped on something. Shining his flashlight downward, he almost shouted with triumph. It was one of those doorstops. Quickly, he shoved the triangular piece of wood under the swinging door and tapped it in with the toe of his boot, knowing that it was going to buy him only a few extra moments.
Anxiety grabbed his gut as he heard the zombies, activated by the noise and the smell of live prey, groaning and shuffling behind the door. He didn’t want to get trapped in here. He did another frantic sweep with his light when a thump and a faint female voice caught his attention. Pointing his flashlight in the direction of the sound, he saw the door. With four quick steps, he made his way to the door and put his eye to the peephole.
The woman standing outside whipped her head to the right, as if looking for something. There was another kick and then a bang as she threw herself against the door. She was trying to get in, and he was trying to get out. Jesus.
Whatever was out there had to be worse than what was in here. Sky yanked the door open, yoked her around the waist, and dragged her inside. Holding her tightly, he kicked the door shut as hard as he could.
* * * *
THE BANGING OF THE intruders covered the mindless, grating sounds of zombies. He hoped the gang would be overcome, allowing them to escape. If they were lucky. Because the closet was so small, she remained crammed against him, his arm still around her waist. He could feel her rib cage expanding and contracting with each breath, and her bottom pressing into his lap. Sky closed his eyes, praying his dick wouldn’t choose this time to stand up and introduce itself. It had been too long since he had kept company with any female, much less had a firm ass shoved against him. He hugged the good-smelling woman to him and enjoyed the weight of her body against his. If a grinding lap dance was what he had to endure to keep her, and him, safe, then so be it. It might be an awful, terrible burden, but someone had to take the job.
Her heart beat like a jackrabbit’s against his chest. She had no pack, no gear. She must be staying nearby. He inhaled her scent again, an intoxicating mix of vanilla and something floral.
Male voices interrupted his thoughts, and Sky saw the beams of her pursuers’ flashlights through the crack at the bottom of the door.
“She’s gotta be in here. No way she could have gotten out the front without getting nabbed,” one of them snarled as they pulled the back door open with a screech. The men from the alley joined the conversation.
“That cunt fucked up my balls, man. I can feel ’em swelling up. And she almost took off Jay’s ear.”
“Fuck yeah. When we find her, first thing I’m gonna do is— What the fuck? Collie, look out!”
The woman pressed back against him, crushing him into the back wall. The gun dug into his back, grinding against his vertebrae. He slid his arm under her breasts and pulled her still tighter against him.
“Don’t be afraid. Nobody’s coming in here.” He didn’t know this for sure, but he hoped she would draw some comfort from his words. She trembled so much he swore he could hear her teeth chattering even over their confused shouts, then bellows of terror.
Sky put his mouth close to her ear. “We’ll wait till they’re busy with your friends; then we’ll go.”
The shrieks and cries continued as well as the soggy ripping sounds of human flesh being consumed. The groans of the zombies grew louder and more frantic as the attack continued, the flashlight beams jerking around as their owners were either attacked, torn apart, or ran for their lives. Bodies smacked wetly on the concrete floor as the wails of the living dissolved into pitiful moans, and their pleas for help went unanswered.
The woman shivered and shook against him, no matter how firmly he held her. There was moisture on his bare arm, and he realized she was crying. “Don’t cry for them, honey,” he whispered in her ear. He smoothed her hair back away from her sweaty face. “They woulda done worse to you. I can guarantee you that.”
After the cacophony of mindless hunger and zombie carnage, an eerie silence reigned, punctuated by the occasional groan and tearing, squishy noises. His watch ticked off the seconds.
“Come on.” He stood the best he could in the cramped space and helped her up. “We can go.”
“No, no,” she pleaded, a death grip on his arm. “I can’t go out there. I won’t. We’ll wait until they leave.”
“They can’t leave,” he whispered. “We need to go now, while they’re distracted with their eating.”
“But—”
“Be quiet and come with me. It’ll be fine.” Something in his voice must have convinced her, because she relaxed against him.
With his gun at the ready, he nudged the closet door open with the toe of his boot.