Epidemic of the Undead: A Zombie Novel (4 page)

A bag of potato chips that had fallen to the floor crunched under his foot. Watching his steps more carefully, an unusual stench that was permeating the air drew his attention. It became stronger as he approached the counter.

Outside, between the obnoxious tiger pictures, Chris could see a few more zombies lingering around than before. They didn’t appear to be a threat.

He made it to the counter and tried to lean over to see what was on the other side. He was so short that standing on tiptoes didn’t help. With a heavy sigh, Chris bit down hard on his lip. Sweat began to form on his brow.

Going around the counter took him close to the slushy machine. A dead body lay unmoving and blocking his path. A large pool of blood clotted on the cold tile. Three bullet holes were punched into the corpse’s face. There were two in the head and one in the left cheek. The face was marred so badly that Chris was unable to determine the age of the man. His naked chest had deep lacerations that only someone with incredibly sharp nails could have made.

The putrid stench of decomposition became harder to stomach. Chris freed one hand from the bat and lifted his shirt up over his nose. It didn’t help.  

A very light
tap…tap…tap
sent his heart plunging into his stomach. Forgetting the mutilated cadaver, Chris rounded the counter, club at the ready.

The tapping sounded again.

Chris came upon two more corpses. One lay on top the other. The cash register was open and the money inside was covered in blood and gore. Some of the greenbacks were scattered across the floor and over the two dead bodies.

Money suddenly seemed useless now. He was dumfounded at how fast the world could fall apart. With all of this death around him he felt like he probably didn’t even need to hang onto his social security card anymore, let alone money. If this really was a Nationwide epidemic, the government would probably never bounce back. If they did it would take years. It was a freaking warzone out there. If things really were this bad nationwide, Chris highly doubted that money would ever be worth anything ever again.

“What is it? What do you see?” Steve called out softly.

Chris glanced down the aisle; Steve had both hands full.
What the . . . is he eating a sandwich
, Chris thought. Waving Steve off, he went back to the carnage before him.

The dead man underneath the others held onto a small handgun loosely. Chris wasn’t familiar with the different makes and models of firearms. Unless the thing came with instructions, he wouldn’t even know what kind of ammunition to put in it.

Chris pulled the corpse on top to the side and it released a cloud of foul smelling gasses. When it rolled over, it flopped next to a chewed up severed arm that had been thrown against a rack of cigarettes, which had fallen down and partially covered it. 

He knelt down and pried a finger from the trigger guard of the pistol. Using the best CSI reasoning from what he had seen on those TV shows, he figured that the couple from the Sedan met their fate here at the store. An undead had probably entered the store and attacked the woman first, managing to rip her arm off, and enjoying a few bites, before her friend came to her aid and blasted the zombie in the face. With the woman missing an arm, her companion gave her up for dead. Instead of mourning, he took the opportunity to rob the storeowner of his cash. There was a struggle behind the counter. Somehow, the man, must have been bitten, either by the woman or her attacker, because the man started turning into one of those things during the robbery.  The owner managed to get the gun and shoot the man in the head. The man on the bottom, the owner, must have died of a heart attack. Chris could not find one mark on him.

Chris’ stomach curdled tight around the coffee roiling in his stomach. He felt the acidic bile climbing its way up, and he couldn’t hold it back. Chris Commons threw up next to the owner on the floor, and then he wiped his mouth on his shoulder. Chris heard Steve laughing.
Stupid prick.

Chris smelled the faint aroma of coffee, mingled with mustard and decaying funk, and hurled again.           

The
tap…tap…tap…
returned, louder and closer this time. His gaze settled on an electronic box next to the register. Two orange lights flashed momentarily from the fuel pump controls. Pump seven was requesting service. Chis looked out into the parking lot from behind the counter.

He saw something more terrifying than the undead. The raiders had finally arrived.

Two very large men toting heavy firepower were examining the blue Sedan at pump seven. Two Ford trucks rolled in with at least five men wearing camouflage spilling out of each truck bed. They were armed, and no doubt, very dangerous. He entertained the possibility that they were here for search and rescue, but Chris discarded that idea quickly. He couldn’t take the risk of making the wrong assumption. Stephanie would not fare well in the hands of human predators, because she was a very attractive young lady. He and Steve would be no match against them. Once they were out of the way, the strong would prey upon the weak. Chaotic times brought out the worst in men

“Shit . . . Steve! We’ve got company!” Chris darted from behind the counter, pointing to the window.

“How long we got?” Steve asked, glancing out the window, expecting to see a slow moving mob of undead. “Oh, shit!” He ducked back down and grabbed Stephanie by the arm.

“What?” Stephanie said in panic.

“Looters! Lots of fucking looters!” Steve was on his feet and pulling Stephanie forward. “Is there a back way out?” 

“I don’t see one. I don’t fucking see one!” Chris kicked a door open, hoping it would lead to a way out. It was a maintenance closet full of toilet paper and cleaning supplies. His gaze returned to the parking lot. Luckily, the gang was still preoccupied with the Sedan. In the distance, he could see that the redneck welcoming committee was gathering undesired attention. A cluster of ghouls from the coffee shop was staggering into view. Chris recognized them as the dozen or so zombies that had followed them down the side street. That brought back memories of Mark’s cold dead body that he so unceremoniously left behind. They had been cousins; they had grown up together. Now Mark was destined to become one of
them
. Chris hoped that he never had to see Mark again.

The first shot rang out in front of the store.

Chris saw a few of the men firing into the street. Their guns weren’t aimed at the lingering few by the coffee shop, but in another direction. The side street ghouls that had gathered while during Mark’s death had finally caught up. Bursts of light flashed from the muzzles of several handguns. The sporadic report of gunfire filled the air, slowly becoming drowned out by relentless unified moans.

“What about the walk-in cooler?” Stephanie said, pulling from Steve’s grip.

With three long energetic strides, she reached the cooler’s bulky metal access door and pulled it open in one swift and fluid motion.

“Freakin’ brilliant,” Chris said, and took hold of the handgun in one hand and tossed the bat to Steve. “Get in before they see us!” The door closed securely behind them, just as a few of the men neared the store’s front doors. Chris’ heart was beating hard against his chest and blood pounded in his temples.

It was cold inside, but it felt good. Stacks of sodas, milk, and other various products filtered the lighting. The glass doors for easy product access were foggy and hard to see out of, which was good, because that meant the same for looking in.

Chris tried to get a better look at the looters, who were now entering the store.

“Did they see us? Oh shit, man . . . we’re dead meat. They fucking saw us come in here!”

A slight scraping noise came from Chris' immediate right. Steve was pacing. “Shhh!” The room was lined corner to corner with unopened boxes of mixed freight. A hand truck leaned against one wall with several unopened cases of Miller Light stacked on top. “I don’t think they saw us,” he whispered. “It’s way too dark in the store for them to have seen us from outside. Just stay cool!”

Chris grabbed the hand truck and moved the beer toward the door. Stephanie followed suit, by quietly grabbing one box after another, building a barrier by the cooler’s entrance. Steve curled up on the floor with his face buried in his knees. Chris and Stephanie looked at him in disgust.

“Why the hell are we freaking out, exactly?” Stephanie said.

“Are you serious? Look at those guys!” Chris pointed at the foggy glass doors. “They’re dangerous!”

“How do you know they’re dangerous? They might be here to help us. They have real weapons. There’s more of them to help us fight back.”

“You didn’t get a good look at those guys, but I did. I know we’ve just met, but I need you to trust me. Okay, Stephanie? Those dudes out there with their hunting rifles and camo-pants aren’t military. They’re looking for survival supplies and whatever strikes their fancy. They would fight each other over who would get to have you first.”

“He’s right,” Steve said lifting his head from his knees.

“You two are ridiculous. I’m going out there.”

“No you’re fucking not! Would you just trust me on this? Chris said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah, but I don’t thin—”

“Shh . . .” Chris whipped the blood from his hands to his pant leg then shoved his hand over her mouth. The looters were right outside by the freezer section. Their faint mumbles penetrating through the cooler doors and over the light buzz of fans.

One of the doors leading to the beer swung open. Eager hands were snatching case after case of beer out. Chris heard them speaking now, and caught a glimpse of their dirty clothing through the stacks of beer.

“Fucking partttty!” One man shouted with four cases of beer piled in his arms.

“Hell yeah, we’re gonna party!” Another man said. “We just need to get us some ass. Can you believe it? Town goes to shit and the only lady left alive is Phil’s old winch.”

“Damn shame too. That lady there is nothin but’a bitch,” the other man said, arms loaded down with beer.

“Hell, soon’s we get done loadin’ up the booze, I say we hit the titty joint. Gat’a be some fine bitches holdin’ up down there, you recon?”

“Fuckin’ A, dude!”

Chris turned to Stephanie and made an ‘
I told you so’
face. 

She shook her head lost in the thought of what could’ve happened if she hadn’t kept quiet.

“Aw man… looky here, ya’ll,” a third, much fatter, man called out. “We got three dead’ns by the counter. Looks like this feller done took the easy way out. Shot right in the kisser,” the heavy set middle aged man chuckled, as he walked around the counter and stuffed his pockets with packs of cigarettes.”

“Hey now, don’t be takin’ all them smokes just for you,” called out one of the men by the cooler door. “Buck, go ahead and drop these beers off at the truck. Hurry back. We got plenty more to haul outta here!”

The man loaded down the cases of beer nodded leaving the store.

While he waited for his comrade to return, the man reached in and pulled out a Miller High Life from one of the twelve packs. It sounded refreshing as he twisted the cap off. “What else good you think they got in here?” he said rhetorically, after downing half the bottle. Glass shattered against the tile as he let it drop to the floor. He pulled out another beer, popped the top, and poured down another big gulp.      

“Hey now, you best be saving the party for when we get back to the house. Set that down and help me get the rest of these to the truck,” Buck said walking up, ready to take more cases out. Snatching the half-downed beer from his friend, he chugged what was left. He sent the empty bottle crashing against the wall. 

The two men gathered all the beer they could carry and headed back to the parking lot. The cooler door closed on its own. Aside from the man behind the counter, the store was empty. He was busy scratching off numbers on lottery cards. A carton of cigarettes was wedged under both armpits.

Chris dropped to his knees and started scooting toward a glass door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Steve whispered.

“To get a better look!”

A halo of gunfire waged war against the dead outside like the steady pop of corn in the microwave.

They have to run out of ammo eventually
, Chris thought, still watching the man behind the counter, who was still scratching off one lotto card after another.   

A sudden break in the firing was followed by several guttural screams. The man at the counter didn’t even flinch. Chris tried to catch a glimpse of the parking lot, but he couldn’t see anything. The volley of rifles and small arms fire quickly picked back up. 

“What the hell is going on out there?” Stephanie said.

“I don’t know. I can’t see anything.” 

“Let’s get the hell out of here, while these jackasses are preoccupied,” Steve said. He stood to his feet, looking less flustered.

“Can’t,” Chris said.

“And why the hell not?” Steve’s chest flared out.

“Sounds like a solid plan to me,” Stephanie agreed.

“One of them is still in the store.”

“What the hell is he doing?” Steve said.

“Playing the lotto.”

“What? The instant wins?” Steve asked.

“I guess. The dumb fuck is standing at the counter playing all of the scratch-offs.” Chris said, followed by a smirk.

A lone zombie shambled into the store; its eyes fixed on the man behind the register.

“Oh, shit.”

“What is it now? What the hell is going on now?”

“A zombie just freakin’ stepped into the store,” Chris whispered. “I don’t think that guy sees it.”

Chris felt two bodies snuggle up against him, as the two of them came to get a look for themselves. Stephanie rested one hand on his back. Chris’ heart skipped a beat, and though he knew it was silly, he thought a special moment passed between them. In all his travels as a full time touring band, he had never taken a single opportunity to score with the ladies. Sure, the chance to sleep with girls had presented itself. He was looking for something more than one night stands though. He wasn’t ready to commit to marriage or have kids or anything that serious. There was no way he could he even afford to take care of children as a musician. The band barely made ends meet as it was.