I've Been Deader (17 page)

"Okay."

He walked slowly down the cluttered lane behind the counter, his bag of goodies softly bouncing against his leg. He ran his fingers along the display racks. Cameras, CDs, film, boom boxes, and ... there - flashlights. He grabbed two, throwing one in the sack. The other he left on the counter and walked back to the battery display to search for C batteries. As a soft sound of movement drifted out of the darkness, Timmy froze.

Did I hear that?

Silence answered. For a short eternity he stood perfectly still. He heard only the rasp of his own breathing, loud as a police siren. Thanks to the Orange Crush, he had to fight down the urge to burp. In the end he gave in and belched into his hands as quietly as he could. Quickly he opened the package of batteries in the flashlight and ...
Do I turn it on?
Right now he wanted light more than Paris Hilton wanted publicity, but did he dare turn it on? Light was a two-way street. Could zombies see in the dark? He didn't know and he definitely didn't want to find out.

The prescription counter was still on the other side of the CVS.

"Another long one hundred feet," he whispered to himself.

Moving as quietly as he could, Timmy made his way back to the counter where he had left the plastic bag.

I'm a ninja. A silent, deadly ninja. Cat paws in the dark
. With all the caution of a Mormon in a strip club, Timmy unscrewed the back of the flashlight and gently slipped in the batteries, deciding to keep the flashlight off for the moment.

He started walking toward the prescription counter. From the corner of his eye he could just make out the rotting biker, still standing on the other side of the revolving door, face pressed up against the glass.
Like a kid in a candy store
. He doubted it could actually see him, but that didn't tone down the creep factor much.

Just grab the meds and run
, he reasoned with himself.
Nothing in here but us chickens.

As he walked through the gloom to the back of the store he could just make out the products along the shelves. Shampoos, toothbrushes, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss, chap stick. He took some of these and tossed them in the bag. Douches, tampons - he left those alone. He was about halfway down the aisle now. What little light there was didn't reach this far back and Timmy was alone in the dark - he hoped. He stopped and listened, alert for any noises. All was
dead
still.

Repeating the silent prayer common to children all over the world -
Please, just this once, just this once. Just let me be okay this once
- he clicked on the flashlight. Light spilled across the aisle, seeming overly bright to his eyes. He shone it quickly down the aisle, judged the distance to the counter and turned it off.

"Green light," he whispered. He took another dozen silent hops. Stopped and listened. Nothing. "One, two, three. Red light!" He clicked the flashlight back on. The prescription counter was about ten feet away. A sign reading 'Pick Up' hung over it and he could also make out some of the shelves. He couldn't read the signs but knew they'd be alphabetical, like the ones in the library. He did his best to memorize the layout, then switched off the flashlight.

"Green light." Darkness swam back in. He made it all the way to the counter, feeling a little silly about being afraid of the dark AND being afraid of the light. The counter had one of those flip up sections, conveniently raised, and he strode right through. Easy peasy.

"One, two, three ... red light."

The flashlight clicked on, showing a surprisingly debris-free floor. There were drawers in front of each shelf, more or less filled with prescriptions. Timmy ignored these and shone the light on the top of the shelves. His luck was still in. The first sign said 'Asthma - Lipitor'.

Okey doke. Get the meds and get out of Dodge.

He'd walked to the shelves and started looking for the right pills. His mom had told him to grab what he could but to make sure he got the Amoxicillin, Codeine and Oxycontin. He'd get those, then just go stuff his bag with goodies from the filled prescription bins. If biker dude was still guarding the front, he'd take his chances with the rear exit. Not ideal, but once he was outside ...

Something moved, something behind him.

He tried to turn around but couldn't. He was scared stiff. Yes he was. The soft whispering sound, the soft sound of something dragging, floated out of the darkness. The flashlight - red light - fell to the floor. Something was moving. But it wasn't him. Timmy didn't think he'd ever be moving again.

Chapter 29

Run, damnit!

"Hey, kid."

Timmy almost peed himself in relief when he heard those words. 'Hey kid' wasn't exactly the Gettysburg address, which he had been required to memorize exactly two days before zombies became America's new immigration problem. What a waste of time that had turned out to be. But it was two more words than any zombie ever uttered.

He quickly retrieved the flashlight and shone it in the direction of the voice.
Maybe zombies can talk
, he thought uneasily.

The man, blinking rapidly against the light, was black ... almost purple. He threw a bony arm across his face. He was bald, dirty, skeletal thin, and looked to be anywhere between twenty-five and sixty.

"I'm no zombie. Lower that fucking light."

Timmy did - and almost dropped the flashlight again.

The man was barefoot and bare assed. At the best of times, being an eleven-year-old white kid, alone in a dark drug store with a naked black man, would make anyone nervous. This was a far cry away from the best of times. He took a step back and swung the light back to the stranger's head.

"Who are you? How did you get in here past -?"

"Goddamnit," the man hissed, shielding his eyes again. He took a few steps toward Timmy. "I told you ..."

"Why are you naked?"
And why, Jesus oh Jesus, do you have an erection?
Keeping the light on the man's face, he risked a quick glance over his shoulder. No visible exits behind him. He'd have to run around the man and make for the door. Okay, the guy was barefoot and looked half-dead. Timmy hoped it would be as easy as it looked.

The man raised his other arm and Timmy noticed for the first time he was holding a bat - one of those aluminum ones.
Probably got it from the summer fun aisle.

"Got dis from the summer fun aisle," the man whispered. He paused for a second, frowning. "Now why dud I say that?" He started forward again, holding the bat out in front like a torch. "You don't get to come into my
stuh
and ask questions." He had a bit of a southern twang.

"I don't want any trouble, mister. I don't have anything you want. Nothing you can't get from this store, anyway. Can I just go?" He hated the way he sounded. In his mind he was a hard case; tough and dangerous, but when the words came, they came out of a scared little boy's mouth.

The man grinned, stretching his skin even tighter across his skull and revealing more gum than teeth. He swung the bat, connecting with a display rack of greeting cards. A few cards spilled to the floor but the rack remained standing.

"No trouble from me, Timmy. Jus stand still and close t'ose purty eyes and you'll get no trouble from me."

Timmy blinked. "How did you know my name?"

"Timmy, Timmy, Timmy. Open the door and there are the people." He took another half swat with the bat, forcing Timmy to take a further step back. Skull and boner took another step closer.

"Listen, I don't know who you are ..."

But suddenly he
did
know. The man's name was Chester and he -
is he going to tear that shit up? -
was originally from south Virginia. Timmy had never met him but he knew. The man had moved to the CVS when the world had taken a turn for the worse and was -
going to have to kill him after. Always kill 'em after -
happy spending his days and nights popping pills and eating Charleston Chews.

He glanced one last time across the room. The last gasp of daylight was slipping in the front of the store. If his luck was in ...

"I think you better call Mom," the walking stick crooned. "Better tell her you're going to be late for din -"

The man squawked, sounding and looking like a frightened chicken as the flashlight bounced off his face. The light went out and darkness reclaimed the room. Timmy ran. In an instant he was past where the man was, his eyes focused on the soft glow at the front of the store. Then something slammed into his back, sending him sprawling across the floor.

He tried to get up but he couldn't breathe. Chester had swung blindly with the bat and it had knocked the wind right out of him. But it looked like his luck was in. The bat had connected as he was running away from and not toward Chester. He heard something clatter to the ground. The bat, he assumed. Chester was mewling in the darkness.

"Fhucking brat broke my toof. Fhucking brat. "

Timmy made it to his hands and knees. Small droplets of blood fell to the floor, spattering a dancing Snoopy card - "Wish you were Deer!" He had bitten his lip when he fell and it would smart like hell later.

If there is a later.
He started crawling toward the door, still a good piece away.

Chester was on the move again. Timmy risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw a dark figure moving cautiously toward him, both hands covering his face.

An eternity later air came rushing back into Timmy's lungs. He scrambled to his feet and started running. Chester was moving faster as well, mumbling between breaths.

"Open the door ... and ... therth ... the peoples ..."

Timmy ran, his bag of goodies flapping wildly against his legs. He could see the door.

"Gonna git ya ..."

He didn't dare look back now, but he was sure the voice was -

"Closer ... almosth dere ..." Chester gasped.

He could see the door clearly now.

Oh shitfuckjesusmother!

He'd forgotten about Hardly Deadinsen. The big zombie stood on the other side of the door, its maggoty face pressed against the glass, searching for treats. Timmy picked up the pace, his thin legs madly pumping up and down.

"Too late," Chester wheezed.

He gave an inarticulate shout and threw himself at the door as hard and fast as he could, combined with a blind yank at the bolt somewhere above his head. The revolving door released, then all too slowly spun and pulled him outside, while pushing the zombie inside. The bag caught on the door frame and tore open, spilling pills, candy bars and batteries all over the ground. Timmy followed, falling ass over tea kettle on the sidewalk, adding a few more cuts and bruises to the bill.

From inside he heard Chester grunt as he slammed into something. Then he heard Chester scream. And scream.

By the time Timmy gathered up the items from the ground, the CVS was once again silent.

Chapter 30

Introductions

Jon stood behind the podium, his best bullshit smile plastered firmly in place. Deerkill's newest breathing residents filled half the seats in the meeting hall, formally known as theater four in the Lowes Multiplex. Word of his arrival had spread quickly, and people were curious.

Mayor Hart wound up his introductory speech. Earlier, Jon overheard two women in the back of the theater refer to him as "Mayor Biggie". Apparently the self-appointed administrator of Deerkill was quite the ladies man. He was a bit older and heavier than Jon, with a seventies porno star mustache. And if Ann Landers and her friend were to be believed, he packed quite a weapon between those chaffing thighs. He looked every part the clown, and Jon knew it would be a mistake to underestimate him. Anyone who could look as useless as that and end up running a town had to be more than he appeared.

"Electricity is back on in most of the town, as I'm sure you all figured out by now, and that's good news. Enjoy it. Half the world or more may be trying to eat us, but that don't mean we can't still play Xbox. Right, Timmy?"

The crowd chuckled politely and Jon saw a young boy a few rows back blush. Even sitting down, Jon could tell he was all elbows and knees. He wore a Bart Simpson T-shirt, with 'Eat My Shorts' written underneath the little scamp and his skateboard.

It's him. Goddammit, it's him.

"We still need to clear out everything north of Laguna Drive to the highway." The Mayor held up his hand to quiet the few murmurs of protest. "Now I know that no one's seen anything, but better safe than sorry. And idle hands and all that." He produced a clean looking handkerchief and blotted his brow.

The boy was with a woman; more than pretty enough to hold Jon’s interest at any other time.
He was in the dream. Standing beside that mailman.
He was almost sure of it - almost. He didn't remember exactly what the boy in the dream looked like. But he was wearing the same T-shirt as Timmy there; same age too.

"And we are in luck," Mayor Biggie continued. "Mr. Tanner and his friend, Sunshine -"

"Bill. My name's Bill, not Sunshine."

The Mayor's smile slipped just a bit. "- and his friend Bill here, have decided to join us for a spell. He - they - seem competent and willing, two qualities we can always use here. We're giving Jon Tanner and his friend the job. Mr. Tanner?" Mayor Biggie made an overly magnanimous gesture and Jon limped up to the podium accompanied by a smattering of polite applause.

Jon smiled. "Thank you. I'm not used to speaking in front of a crowd, but I guess we're all doing things these days that we're not used to." A few chuckles. "We came up from eastern Pennsylvania. Things aren't any better there, as I'm sure you know. Sunshine and I ..." Jon shot him a quick look and Sunshine decided to keep quiet. "… we put some hard miles behind us. And we'd like to stay put here for a while. We hope you'll have us."