Hero for Hire
Authors: Margaret Madigan
HERO FOR HIRE
Tales From Beyond the End, Book One
By MARGARET MADIGAN AND MERISSA MCCAIN
LYRICAL PRESS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/
To Adam and to Darin. The two guys with the incredible patience, wisdom and ultimate good taste necessary to stick with us through it all. We adore you.
Chapter 1
Sunlight glinted off the pumps at the Walmart gas station, almost as though the apocalypse had never happened. I drove the Land Rover into the lot and pulled up beside them, wishing they were still functional. They almost certainly didn’t work any longer, but if I could get into the underground storage through the fuel ingress, I’d be able to skim whatever gasoline was left.
Scanning the area for any Infected, I found it deserted, at least for now. I grabbed the container I’d selected back at my lab. Testing the knot in the rope I’d tied to it, I reached for my tool bag, and dashed to the fuel ports. Once I found the right wrench, I slid the cover off the port and dropped the container down the hole. I held my breath, hoping for a splash.
When I heard it, I dragged the container through the fuel and hoisted, my shoulders straining with effort. The acrid smell of gasoline hit my nose. It smelled wonderful–like freedom.
Securing the gasoline in my vehicle, I glanced over at the Walmart anchoring the left end of the strip mall. I’d much rather be going back to the makeshift home I’d created in the basement of my borrowed lab. My safe, underground home where the Infected couldn’t get in. But need outweighed caution. Since my supplies were low again and I’d picked clean every building nearby, it was time to widen the search. This was the perfect place to start. The strip mall had a Walmart, a Dick’s Sporting Goods and even a movie store. It was as good as shopping got these days.
“Okay, Gwyn, one step down, one to go,” I said. Two years ago, before the epidemic that brought the world to its knees, I tried not to talk out loud to myself. People stared when I did. But now, with nobody around to hear, it helped me stay focused.
The accordion security mesh at the Walmart front entrance hung askew by a few feet, but all the vehicles in the parking lot were covered in dust, attesting to the two years or so they’d been parked there. Hopefully, whoever or whatever had opened the security mesh was long gone.
Back in the car, I advanced to the entrance slowly, ready to floor it if any Infected emerged from the building. When none did, I parked directly beside the entrance. I grabbed a small kinetic flashlight from the glove box and a bat from the back seat. Outside the car, I picked up an old bottle cap and flung it into the shadowed space, wincing as it clanged off something metal inside.
I waited, staring into the shadows as I counted to sixty in my head.
When no Infected responded to the noise, I slipped through the entryway. I allowed my eyes to adjust to the dark interior, my heart thumping the inside of my ribcage. Reminding myself that people who rush into situations often end up dead, I completed another sixty-count. I detached a grocery cart from the line, set my bat in it, then clicked on the flashlight and headed into the store.
Hurrying down the first aisle, I dodged the debris left behind in the initial panic of the contagion when the healthy fled, leaving this space to the Infected. Bags of rice, beans and pasta beckoned from the half empty shelves. I threw everything I could reach into my cart before I scurried to the next aisle. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to find cans of fruits and vegetables, canned meats, even some soup. The last place I’d scavenged had been almost empty, but the further I ventured from my lab, the more goods I found. As I rushed past the end cap, flashlight swinging wildly, I spotted a high shelf loaded with boxes of Velveeta Macaroni and Cheese. I swept the entire shelf of boxes into the cart. Since the bad times had come, I’d discovered a taste for things I’d never tried before. Mac and cheese was a perfect example.
Although the cart nearly overflowed, I still needed soaps, disinfectants and medical supplies. I needed to check the camping section too. It was only logical I get everything I could while I was there, and while the Infected apparently weren’t. But I needed to unload this cartful before I continued shopping.
Back at the car I emptied the cart quickly. Dashing back into the store, I stopped in the pharmacy section to collect medical supplies. I swept through the toiletry aisle, taking shampoo, conditioners, soaps and hairbrushes. When I came across tampons I felt like I’d won the Nobel Prize. Back when there still was one.
In the makeup aisle, I almost cried as I grabbed lotions, sunblock, lipstick and mascara by the handful. It wasn’t the least bit logical and a complete waste of time, but the thought of getting dressed–properly dressed with makeup, groomed hair and shaved legs–sounded wonderful.
I had one more stop to make at the sporting goods store. I made my way back out to the other entrance and maneuvered my cart through the broken glass of the storefront.
Sweeping my flashlight over the rows of aisle markers hanging from the ceiling, I found the firearms section where I shined my light on the glass cabinets behind the counter. Yes. Jackpot. There were rows of long guns, some with two barrels and others with one barrel, stored in a cabinet on the wall behind the glass counter. Beneath the glass of the counter lay rows of black and silver handguns. I had no idea what sort of firearm any of them were, but I was a scientist. I’d made it through medical school and a handful of fellowships. Surely I could figure out a firearm.
Using the bat, I swung at the glass counter, closing my eyes against flying shards, then transferred the firearms to my cart. Touching them made me nervous, but now that I had to forage far and wide, I’d eventually find myself in situations where I’d be glad for a real weapon.
As I turned to leave, my flashlight caught a box, knocking it off the shelf. The carton hit the floor, spilling ammunition everywhere. I cringed at the noise but was glad for the reminder. Guns needed ammunition and I’d almost left without any. Scolding myself for being so foolish, I scanned the aisle, but because I had no idea what gun took which type of ammunition, I loaded ten boxes of every type into the cart.
Since I’d spent far longer than I’d intended inside the store, I had a bad feeling I was working on borrowed time. The unfamiliar territory made me nervous. I gave the heavy cart a shove, finally getting it to roll at a good pace. By the time I neared the exit, the momentum shot the cart through the doors and into the car, bouncing off the tire and setting off the alarm. I swore, forgetting I’d reset it out of habit after I’d emptied the first cartload.
My hands trembled as I ran to the car, unlocking it as quickly as I could. I fumbled to disengage the alarm. I had to hurry. All I wanted was to get home. Working fast to unload everything into the back seat, I set the guns and ammunition on top of the food, and tossed toiletries by the handful on top of the guns.
I was reaching for a twenty-four pack of double-roll toilet paper when I heard the first Infected. They rattled when they breathed, like people in the last stages of lung disease. It was far too close. I squealed and dropped the toilet paper, then realizing I was unarmed, lunged for the bat.
The Infected came at me. Pale, tattered and filthy, he looked like a homeless person who’d been hiding in a cave for the last two years.
My heart tripped in my chest and my lips tingled with the first signs of hyperventilation. It was a few yards from the back of the Rover, but I knew I’d have to hit the thing, as much as I didn’t want to. I’d never get to the driver’s door before it reached me, so I tightened my grip on the bat. The Infected had been a person, and it was my fault he’d ended up this way. He kept coming in his awkward, rapid gait. If I didn’t fight him off, I’d end up like him, or dead. Neither option worked for me.
I took two steps and swung the bat, screaming as I did. The bat hit him in the shoulder with a meaty
thwack
, the force knocking him back a couple of feet, but not enough to stop his progress. He came again, so I stepped forward and swung as hard as I could, this time connecting the bat to his head with a sickening thud. He collapsed to the pavement motionless.
I dropped the bat, dashed to the driver’s side and yanked the door open. As I did, I heard the rattle again. I turned, expecting the Infected I’d struck with the bat, but instead I felt a hand grab my ankle from under the car. Screaming as I went down, I threw my left hand out to break my fall, sending a sharp pain up my wrist, right before my head cracked the asphalt, shooting bright lights across my vision. Kicking wildly in blind panic, I finally hit something with the heel of my right foot. When the pressure around my right ankle released, I scrambled to my knees and pulled myself into the car, feeling the fingers of the Infected under the car swipe at my legs.
I slammed the door, started the car with shaking hands, then threw it into gear. The vehicle bounced once as I ran over the Infected, before settling back to the asphalt and peeling off. As I sped out of the parking lot I spotted a group of three more Infected shuffling towards the Walmart. My alarm must have drawn them. I hit the street, driving blindly, tears mingling with the blood pouring from the cut on my temple. The Infected I’d killed might have been a person again if I was successful with my work. But not any longer. Now he was just another dead man, and I was responsible for it.
I raced through the streets, the back hatch of the Rover still open with valuable supplies flying out the back, bouncing off the pavement with every fast corner. I had no idea where I was. I just wanted to get away from Walmart and the Infected. But as soon as the adrenaline subsided, my body screamed at me to pay attention to the places that hurt. Dread settled in my belly like a cold, hard stone. I stood on the brakes, coming to a screeching halt. Closing my eyes, I acknowledged all the pain signals. There was a symphony of discomfort in my head, wrist, shoulder, hip and shin.
Afraid of the possibilities, I ignored the pain for a moment. I checked for Infected. Satisfied that it was clear, I eased myself out of the car and shut the back hatch. A great many of my supplies were littered along the road as it was. I needed what I had left. After I climbed back into the car, I forced myself to turn my wrist over slowly to examine it, letting out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. No broken skin. It was probably just a sprain, not serious enough to worry about–too much. A brace would do the trick.
I’d smacked my head on the pavement, and when I peeked in the rearview mirror at the cut on my forehead, it looked ugly. I fingered it, wiping away some of the blood. The cut itself was small. Just a lot of blood. A butterfly bandage would close it easily.
The injury that scared me the most was my leg. It was the only place I’d actually come in physical contact with an Infected. Twisting in my seat, I raised my foot, resting it on my opposite knee. I inhaled sharply, biting my lower lip.
