The Book of a Few (5 page)

To us, the answer was obvious on what to do, but not
how
to do it. We were going to starve within the next few days, which increased the need for an
immediate
solution. We debated robberies, hunting, joked about cannibalism, and even considered gardening as a long-term solution. But by the time we finished eating, we had both come to the same conclusion, an option that had so far proved to be our best bet: we would go to our previous workplace.

We packed what little things Branden had of value in my trunk: his baseball bat and a grocery sack of canned goods. After he threw all of his things inside, I looked back over it all. The pile of belongings seemed small and petty. It is an indescribable feeling really when you realize that most everything you own is worthless. Things that you worked hours upon hours to obtain are now being left behind and forgotten. In some cases, I imagine parts were worth more than the item in its entirety, like say a desktop computer for example. It would be better to break down the computer, clear out its green insides, and use the case as a fire pit than it would be to play spider solitaire. Well, the calculator might still come in handy.

I turned to Branden, “Wait, where is
your
car?”

“
Eh, I watched some jackass drive out of here in it a week ago. Haven’t seen it since.”

I cringed, “Damn. I’m sorry to hear that. It was a nice SUV! Totally could have used it.”

“
No shit,” Branden said shortly.

Before too long, we were out driving around. As we rode, we discussed what we needed most: food. But in the hopes that the old place of work, the Warehouse, would have at least some food left, we did not feel the need to investigate any grocery stores. Part of the reasoning behind it was that we figured we would be playing it safe by not stopping anywhere in the middle of town. Secondly, we were eager to see what was left of the Warehouse.

The world has definitely gone quiet. Even the main drags in town lack activity. We only spotted three moving vehicles in an entire hour. Plastic bags blew about the roadways and dead men lingered in parking lots, behind fences surrounding homes, and along the sidewalks of businesses. People, the ones brave enough to venture out into town, might be trying to find a way to co-exist with the threat of the plague. But hiding in your home and sneaking from one place to another sounds like a stressful life to me.

While I am certain that there are enough firearms and ammunition in the town of Cedar Falls to kill off most of the infected inside the city limits, I can understand why I have yet to see anyone else dispatch any. No one wants to step up and use their remaining resources unless their own life is in immediate danger. It makes sense to preserve ammunition only for when it is needed, but I wish that the community could somehow pull together and remove the immediate threats. But the communication required to coordinate such a large-scale endeavor is nearly impossible.

I often wonder if there could be a way that the world could regain its ability to speak beyond word of mouth. What if someone finds out what has happened to our infrastructure and fixes it? I feel as though something about the Silence is a little suspicious. It is such a coincidence that all forms of long-distance communication were cut off within two days. This is one answer I wish that I could discover before I pass away.

When we were roughly four blocks away from our destination, we noticed a group of infected on the road. We stopped where we were, in the street, to survey the group blocking our way further. This group seemed tight, or compact like a pack of wolves huddled close together. We guessed the crowd was made up of anywhere from six to eight individuals. My vote was to wait for them to move along, but Branden was more inclined to have me ram them with my car. I hesitated when he proposed this.

“
No way. This is our only functional car,
and
it’s my car. Besides, there might be more inside. I don’t want to risk getting stuck somewhere without a working vehicle,” I said.

“
Oh, come on! Does it matter whose car it is? Look around!” He leaned up closer to the glass. “There’s a car!” He glanced at me with his mouth gaping and eyes wide. Pointing at another car, he said, “Jesus Christ! Praise the Lord! There’s another! Wanna trade this four-banger in for that truck over there?” He pounded his hand on my dash.

Sarcasm, I usually like it.

I shook my head and stated that I wasn’t willing to charge into a fight where we were outnumbered three to one. He slumped back in his seat with a sigh. But while I was looking out at the group of infected, he managed to reach across the console of my car and honk the horn a time or two. The zombies down the road instantly looked our way. A couple yelled a horrific and unbridled scream as they started running toward us.

I looked over at Branden and wagged a finger in his face. “You asshole!”

He shrugged, and a coy smile stretched across his cheeks. Silently saying to me,
Whatcha gonna do about it?
I groaned and turned my attention to the road. The car purred, not roared, like a kitten as it attempted to pick up speed like a Formula One racer when I smashed my foot into the accelerator.

Branden was, without a doubt, toying with death. This was not the time or setting to be making rash, impulsive, or thoughtless decisions. We
will
die if he continues to do stupid things like this. Just thinking about his behavior enrages me. He put our lives and our only means of transportation at risk without knowing with absolute confidence that we would get food out of it. A heavy amount of caution will be taken when Branden is around from now on.

We crashed through the infected—well at least most of them, I think. I couldn’t tell how many we had actually hit because blood drenched the windshield after the first two. The windshield wipers worked, but only small areas of the glass were wiped clean. I could only see through a small portion of the glass by leaning forward and pressing myself into the steering wheel. The sounds of the vehicle hitting the zombies were surprisingly loud, and the car shook hard with each one. I figured we hit them going at least forty-five miles an hour, but I can’t remember.

Trying with my best effort, I kept the vehicle on the road. Assuming that the few infected we didn’t hit were now running behind us, we didn’t have the option of stopping. I drove as well as I could and tried to safely get us up the hill to the Warehouse. I jerked the wheel after briefly seeing the entrance of the employee parking lot with little time to react. I misjudged its distance and ended up driving up the curb onto the grassy hill that surrounds the fenced-in parking lot.

I cursed aloud when a metallic cracking sound came from my car. It jumped down the next curb while I was aiming for the drop-down gate. Another loud noise—this time a bang and crunch—reverberated through the car as if I had run over something big. We broke through the wooden drop-down gate, which has an odd resemblance to a railroad crossing. Cracks were spider webbed over the windshield. I would have been rather irate about all the damage to my car, all thanks to Branden, but I was too busy trying to make sure we were going to end up an adequate distance from the pursuing infected when we reached the parking lot.

I pushed the brakes to a stop about fifty yards up the curved entrance to the employee parking lot. The lot seemed devoid of life from what I could perceive through blood and shattered glass. The car’s steering wheel was pulling pretty hard to the right, and since it seemed safe, I exited the vehicle to look at the damage. The front tire was as flat as can be, the bumper was missing chunks of fiberglass, and the hood was absolutely littered with dings and fist-sized dents. Sighing, I motioned Branden out of the vehicle.

I opened the rear seat door and began retrieving our firearms. I placed both on the roof of the car, and then grabbed my backpack with our extra ammunition. I slid two small boxes to Branden.

“
What do you think we’ll find inside?” I asked.

“
Well, besides food, probably some people,” Branden said as he opened one of the boxes and began pushing shells into his gun.

“
I didn’t even think about someone already being inside.”

Groaning and yelling came from behind us—a sure sign that the dead that followed us were close by.

Branden motioned his head toward the glass entrance of the Warehouse. “There’s a van right there.”

Sure enough, a small red minivan was parked, unattended, on the sidewalk outside the main doors.

I sighed and extended the poker at the muzzle of my rifle, then slung the backpack straps over my shoulders. Ready for infected or squatters in the Warehouse, I took a quick peek behind us. It was a motorcycle I’d hit earlier. It looked like it was in bad shape before, but I definitely finished it off. With no infected in sight yet, we began walking toward the doors.

When we got up to the van, we took a moment to look inside. The back end looked to be half loaded with various foods and tools.

“
Slash the tires?” Branden asked.

“
What? No, don’t slash the tires. Jesus, the Warehouse isn’t our property either,” I said.

Branden shrugged, and we took a few steps closer to the door.

“
If there are people inside that are alive, just try to be peaceful and friendly but aggressive,” I ordered Branden.

With our eyes peering in as best as we could, we went through the first set of doors that served as a glass breezeway of sorts. Shards of glass crunched beneath our feet as we walked inside. A stone lay on the ground, presumably the tool used by another party of people that first broke inside the Warehouse.

Pulling our guns to our shoulders, we braced ourselves for enemies to burst forth and attack. We walked past the front desk, which had papers scattered all over it and the surrounding floor. I peered over the counter and found nothing of interest.

We found ourselves at a T intersection. One hallway, just past the lobby desk, veered off to the left. Behind doors along the left hallway are the Human Resources offices, meeting rooms, as well as the Nurse’s office. At this point, we didn’t bother to investigate any of the offices. We simply continued on our path further into the Warehouse, where the goods are stored.

A set of double doors, with only a small rectangle of shattered glass in each, stopped us from venturing further. The doors, normally opened by an employee’s badge, had been propped open by a small rock. Upon examination, someone had gotten himself or herself cut on the glass when reaching inside the small broken window to open the door.

Branden, without hesitation, reached out to open the door. I got myself in prime position to cover him once the door was opened. Yet again, at first glance, we found no signs of life inside the break room.

The vending machines that were still standing were mostly empty of all the snacks they used to hold. It was quiet in here, too, but we did hear some distant noise: people talking in the locker room. Tables in the break room were already lying on their sides, so we concealed ourselves behind one.

None of the voices coming from the locker room were recognizable. I looked over at Branden and whispered to him to be sure to turn the safety off his gun in case something was to happen. Waiting behind the table, I prayed and hoped for the best outcome possible. I was worried, if a fight were coming our way, whether Branden would be able to hold his own.

Less than a minute after hiding behind the table, three men came out of the locker room. The man leading the group was short and plump. He boasted one of the fullest beards I have ever seen. It was such a dark, rich brown, and its length was a surprising eye-catcher to say the least. Followed by the first man were two taller men. Both were unshaven, but lacked the utter magnitude of the first man’s beard. These two grunted through their teeth as they followed the shortest man with bulging garbage sacks.