Chapter 26
Day 2 - Whiteville, North Carolina
Carl sat as still as possible and let his eyes adjust to the semidarkness. While he listened for any movement or sound, his vivid imagination worked overtime. He was sure there were fifty undead waiting for him in the aisles. Although nothing had started moaning or taken a bite out of him yet, his guard was still up.
Having grown up in the 1970’s, Carl remembered people ripping off gas in his neighborhood during Carter’s glorious reign. A day wouldn’t go by without a news story about someone getting their gas siphoned in the middle of the night. The garden aisle was five feet from where he had landed. Carl noticed the garden hose they would need if they were forced to siphon gas. He made a mental note to grab a length on the way out.
Brook looked down through the skylight at her brother. “Raven says there are a whole bunch of walkers coming out of the woods behind the store. Hurry up and find a ladder.”
Every muscle screamed at him to stay seated, yet he hauled his big frame out of the comfortable chaise lounge and went in search of the tool aisle. Walking alone in the dark store without a flashlight made him feel very vulnerable. The hardware section was in the back right of the store. There were five aisles to search. Finally he found an aluminum extension ladder in the very last one. It was difficult manhandling the twelve feet of ladder to the middle of the store quietly. The last corner Carl rounded had a display of plant food canisters stacked pyramid like. The end of the ladder took out the bottom row and they noisily clattered around his feet. Carl almost lost his footing amidst the rolling containers. He managed to stay upright and stood the ladder on end. It made a lot of noise as he pulled it to its full twenty-two feet of extension. An even louder clang resonated when the ladder’s end met the lip of the skylight. He braced the ladder for Brook while she descended. To his dismay, a faint moaning started somewhere in the store.
Raven sat statuelike on the rooftop surveying the scene. The back parking lot of the store now had several walkers ambling around with no real purpose. There was constant gunfire and commotion coming from the direction of the truck stop.
When Brook reached the floor she delivered the bad news about the walking dead amassing outside. Carl hushed her and told her to listen for a minute. A muffled ghostly moan was coming from behind a closed door somewhere in the building. Cautiously the two started searching for the sporting goods section. As they set out, Carl pointed towards the garden hose; Brook gave him a nod and said, “On the way out.”
Carl grabbed three large black nylon gym bags from the sporting good section. He kept two and threw one to Brook.
After a short search, Brook exclaimed quietly, “I’ve found the guns.”
Carl helped her pick out two shotguns, a Mossberg 500 pump and a Remington 870 express camouflage model with a pistol grip. Carl removed the tags, found the slings and attached them to the weapons. Although he turned the place upside down there were no pistols to be had in the store. For good measure they also chose a hunting rifle. It was a Remington model 700 in .223 caliber fitted with a Leupold scope. They finished filling up two bags with twelve gauge shells, and all of the long rifle ammunition they could find. There were only three boxes of .223; they all went in the bag. Brook picked out a very sharp folding knife. They filled the third bag with canned food, beef jerky, peanuts and all of the bottled water it would hold.
The moans coming from whatever was trapped were now accompanied by a steady pounding. Carl shoved six of the twelve gauge slugs into the Model 500 and chambered a round. Brook loaded the other shotgun.
“Let’s see where the sound is coming from,” Carl said.
“I think we should get out of here,” Brook countered.
“I want to take just one quick look. OK?”
“Fine,” Brook said as she flicked open the pocket knife, “but make it quick. I’m going back up to the roof after I get a length of hose.”
Carl followed the sound to its source. The noises were coming from behind a closed door with a two foot square glass window inset chest high. The sign on the door read “Loss Prevention-Employees Only.” Inside was one of the infected. It wore a security guard’s uniform and something had taken a big chunk of flesh from its neck. A good amount of dark dried blood blended in with the black rent-a-cop uniform. Carl tip toed forward and peered in the window. He could see that there were handcuffs and a pistol still on its hip.
The pale faced creature noticed Carl and started throwing itself at the door and window. The moaning from the undead thing rose in volume the second it set its lifeless glassy eyes on him.
Carl coveted the pistol on the ghoul’s hip and he was determined to get it. When he tested the knob it turned freely. To his relief the dead bolt was not thrown. It was comforting to know the undead didn’t remember how to open doors, or lock them. Slowly, shotgun at the ready, he turned the brushed steel knob and partially opened the door.
Carl guessed that the undead guard had been rotting in the stifling office for some time. The revolting odor made his eyes water. He composed himself after a few dry heaves. He slowly turned the doorknob, hoping to get the initiative on the imprisoned walker. The creature’s strength caught him off guard. It shouldered the door open and came for him with arms outstretched, its fingers and mouth longing for his flesh. Carl misjudged the thing’s speed; it grabbed ahold of his shirt pulling its gaping maw toward his exposed neck. Carl discharged the shotgun at close range. The walking corpse was blown backwards, pale bony fists still clutching fabric, its rib cage and left arm destroyed by the buckshot.
A new chorus of moans started up after the weapon’s deafening discharge. Behind a second windowless door, another room still held undead. They started battering the door, flesh eating curiosity getting the best of them.
The guard didn’t stay down; it worked itself back into a standing position. Carl racked another shell and took careful aim. The next blast separated the creature’s head from its body. The zombie fell with a thud, blood sluicing from the cavity where its head used to be attached. It was a messy task turning the dead security guard over to access the weapon. The pistol turned out to be a Sig Sauer M&P .40 caliber and there were two spare magazines on the belt. He took the gun, belt and all.
With each new blow the back door started to splinter. An arm punched through the hollow wood veneer door and felt around for prey before withdrawing back into the hole. A pale milky white face filled the jagged opening. Carl felt devoured by the dead eyes lusting for his flesh. He knew it was only a matter of time before the door would totally give way. Instead of shooting the ghoul in the face with the shotgun and further eroding the door’s structural integrity, he turned and moved as fast as his forty-five year old legs would propel him. Climbing up the ladder would be difficult as loaded down as he was, but they needed all of the goodies he was carrying.
Carl looked up and was greeted by two familiar faces. Slinging the Mossberg over his shoulder he started lugging the heavy duffel bags up the aluminum rungs.
A tremendous crash came from the rear of the Bi-Mart. The dead had finally breached the flimsy door and were coming for him.
Brook and Raven saw them first. The uniformed ghouls were heading right for Carl’s outstretched legs. The first ghoul slipped and fell on the same canisters of plant fertilizer that had nearly tripped up Carl, followed by its fellows. The tin can obstacle course slowed their pursuit enough for Carl to chuck the heavy bags up onto the roof. After clumsily regaining their footing, the creatures, mouths open and loudly moaning, threw their rotten bodies at the base of the fully extended ladder.
Brook’s straining fingers brushed Carl’s just before the ladder was knocked from the lip of the skylight. He barely managed to grab hold as gravity fully took over and stole the ladder. He was strong enough to momentarily hang suspended, but the glass still in the frame was shredding his bare hands. Compared to the fate that hungrily waited down below him, not being able to high five for a month was worth the tradeoff.
Brook thought quickly, then held on to Raven’s legs and anchored her. She lowered her through the skylight until she hung, suspended upside down. Raven stretched along the length of her uncle’s body, trying to snare the shotgun’s sling.
“I’ve got it. Pull me up!” Raven yelled out.
Feet planted on the skylight frame, Brook hauled all sixty pounds of her daughter, the shotgun sling firmly clasped in her hands, back to safety. They both held onto the thin nylon strap encircling Carl’s upper body. Brook’s muscles cramped and her body quivered while she fought to belay Carl’s weight. Raven’s grip was tenuous at best. Brook implored her brother to pull with all of his might.
Carl looked down at the undead mosh pit below his dangling feet and summoned every last ounce of strength from his tired arms and shoulders. With help from the girls, he was able to hook a leg over and fully pull himself onto the roof. Carl lay there, flat on his back, gasping for breath and stared thankfully up at the brilliant blue sky.
When he had his wind back and could command his quivering legs to support him, he stood and stumbled after Brook and Raven.
Raven was the first to reach the roof’s edge directly above the bucket truck. She surveyed the parking lot and said in a near whisper, “We have a problem.”
Carl and Brook couldn’t believe their eyes when they peered over the parapet.