The Dead Hunger Series: Books 1 through 5 (84 page)

Dave grabbed his bat and we held onto the rack as we slid through the rank-smelling muck and over the many expired zombies.  We made our way cautiously through the rest of the store, and I found two pairs of consignment binoculars at the front counter.  They were awesome quality lenses, and I hoped they’d come in handy in our pursuit of Hemp.

They carried no archery supplies, so what we had was it, unless the gun shop had anything.  We left and got back in the car.

“That seemed like a lot of trouble for two baseball bats,” said Dave, starting the engine.

“Yeah.  The crowds are thinner, though.”

A big smile spread across Dave’s face.  “I get it.  The crowds?  Thinner?  Yuk, yuk, yuk.”

We laughed again.  How long had it been since we’d had the release of laughter?  It really seemed like forever.

****

This time we both felt confident that we were far enough from Carville’s home to use a gun if necessary.  One of our shopping list items was a nice pistol with a silencer.  Didn’t matter what kind.  Just something we could shoot without worrying about the report as much as before.

It was cold tonight.  I wasn’t even sure if October had yet become November, because days didn’t seem as important now.  Of course it was eventually going to be important to know when the hell it was, but we always had battery-powered calendars to determine this.  I wondered if the Atomic Clock was still functioning, or even how the hell it functioned in the first place.

“We looked at one another, the splatter of zombie blood stinking and making each of us look pretty damned haunted.

“If they have hunting clothes, I think some camo might be a good idea,” said Dave.

“Hadn’t thought of that,” I said as we approached the door.  “Good idea.”

Dave pulled on the door, and it didn’t budge.  “Shit.”

“Sure, the zombie-riddled sporting goods store is open, but the gun store is tight like drum.”

“Yes, and lock is strong like bull,” said Dave, with a Russian accent.  “Let’s go around.”

Keeping our eyes peeled, we crept in the light of the half moon, staying close to the walls of the building.  As with most firearms stores, this one had bars on the windows and across the entry doors.

We moved around the back corner and approached the rear door.  It hung open by one hinge, a black, jagged chunk taken out of the jamb and door.

“What the fuck, plastic explosives
?”

“I don’t know, but somebody wanted in,” I said.

“Crap,” said Dave.  “Let’s see what’s left.”

We moved down the aisle.  “Anybody home?” I called.

There was no answer.  I know Dave didn’t intend to be taken by surprise again, and neither did I.  Not this time.  I held the 9mm in front of me, my light beaming down the rear hall.

“I gotta take a leak,” said Dave.

“Me, too.”

“Can’t be nice in there.”

“I’ll grab some TP and a bush,” I decided.  “After we leave.”

“Me, too.”

We continued on, nature’s calls forgotten for the moment.

Nothing accosted us or tried to eat us, and no gunshots rang out.  As it turned out, most of the rifles and automatic weapons were gone, but there were still some locked drawers at the base of the glass display counters, and plenty of smaller caliber handguns remaining.

“This is cool,” said Dave, picking up a leather belt with two side holsters attached.  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to walk around wearing cowboy holsters?”

“Can you shoot left?” I asked, smiling.

“No, but the zombies won’t know that.”

“Go for it,” I said.  “I’m prying open these lowers.”

We found a good knife with a thick blade, and in fifteen more minutes, we’d jimmied the locks on the storage drawers until we found what we were looking for.

Silencers.  And three Walther PPKs already fitted with them.

“Am I on some hidden camera TV show?” I asked.  “It would explain a lot of shit.”

“Why?”

I held up one of the PPKs.  “It’s James Bond shit, buddy.”

“Oh, my God.  How many?”

“Three.”

“Magazines?”

I checked.  “In the guns and two more in the drawer.”

“We’re good, then.  Excellent.  Let’s find the ammo for them.  I’m going to grab some clothes.  Want some?”

“Absolutely.  Some odors I get used to.  Zombie scum, not ever.”

The store had some crossbows, too.  Just two of them, and since one of them was a AR-15 with a PSE crossbow kit added, I took it.  That sweetheart cost even more than my Parker Tornado, and it already had a mounted scope and a leather strap.

I was giddy.  I grabbed all the extra carbon arrows for it I could find and tried not to scream with delight.  No reason to sacrifice Dave’s sanity, after all.  He was an innocent bystander.

“Let’s get the clothes and get out of here,” said Dave.  “This was a very successful trip.”

We found some good, long-sleeved camouflage gear, along with thermal underwear.  The hunting rifles and other long-barreled weapons had long been pilfered, probably by Carville’s crew, but we had our PPKs, and now we could stay warm.

“I’m putting mine on now,” said Dave.  “It’s freezing up here.”

“No shit,” said Charlie.  “It is Vermont.”

Dave moved behind a rack and I heard his shoes hit the floor.   “Shit,” he said.  “Never got my steel-toed boots.”

“We were distracted,” I said.  “I should’ve reminded you.  I’m putting my stuff on, too, so I’ll let you know when I’m decent.”

I was stripped down to my underwear.  I pulled the thermal top on and tugged at the sleeves.  My shirt was back on in a flash.  Dave was grunting away on the other side.

Headlights flashed across the front window of the store, reflecting brightly on the ceiling.  I heard scuffling, and Dave bolted around the rack beside me wearing only his thermal underwear bottoms.  He clutched all his clothes in hands and was doubled over.

“Fuck!” he said in a frantic whisper.  “A car just pulled through!”

“Shit,” I said.  “Hurry.  Get dressed.”

Dave pulled on his new pants and jacket, then put his shoes on, leaving the laces untied.  “What do we do?” he asked.

“Grab everything.  Let’s go out the way we came in.”

We moved to the rear of the store again, our arms filled with bags of ammo, weaponry and last but not least, the Glocks, which were out and ready.

Dave crept out in front of me.  We heard gunshots from a distance behind the store.

“Let’s run to those bushes there,” whispered Dave, then took off before I could acknowledge.  I followed behind him. 

Crouching low, we crossed the twenty-five yards of rear parking lot and dropped our merchandise on the ground.  We stood and peered toward the headlights of the vehicle, which had stopped on the alley behind the gun shop, separated by the thick line of hedges in which we now hid.  They shone away from our location, and we watched silhouettes in the distance, their words drifting our way.

“Where the fuck did they go?” one of them said.

“Hell if I know,” answered the other.

A bright spotlight shone from the driver’s side of the vehicle.  I stood up to get a good view.

There was an AK-47 mounted on top.  I dropped back down.

“It’s Flex’s truck!” I said.

“Flex is here?  Is that him?”

“No, the stolen truck, Dave!  The one Rory and Pete hijacked from Todd!”

“No shit,” he said.  “Those fuckin’ assholes.”

“We knew that, I think.  I don’t know if they’ve got it armed or if they figured out the GPS sights on it, but they’re awfully dangerous.”

“We stay down.  Could you tell what they’re doing?”

“Look!” whispered Dave, pointing.  “See that?”

I looked where he pointed, about two hundred feet to the northwest of where Rory and Pete searched with their light, and saw figures disappearing around some low brush.  Something glinted off the half-moonlight as they disappeared.

“I think they had guns.  Not zombies,” I said.

“Me, too.  What the hell?”

The engine on the truck fired, and the spotlight went out.  If it was Rory and Pete in that truck, they spun the tires and took off in the direction of town. 

“Guess they’re giving up,” said Dave.

“We need to find whoever that is,” I said. 

“Maybe it was Flex and Gem!” said Dave.

“I didn’t think of that,” I said.  I felt my heart flutter.  I felt bad about lying to them and going, but Gem, of all people, would understand.  Flex wouldn’t blame me, either.  He loved Hemp, I knew.

“Let’s see, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have given up and run.”

“Good point,” said Dave.

We stood up and gathered our stuff, then walked back to the car, staying close to the building.  As we came around the corner to the front, two tattered zombies, the woman wearing a full-length dress riddled with mud, gore and rips and tears, on her destroyed wrist, a diamond-looking bracelet of some kind that could be real or not – the fact is, it didn’t matter anymore.  It was all worthless now.

The male was completely nude except for a necktie, that hung loosely around a bony neck that didn’t appear thick enough to even support the meager head that sat upon it.  Scarlet vapor wafted from the eyes of these two as they approached us, their obvious intention to create a little bed and breakfast; put us to sleep and feast on our brains and flesh.

“I’m so fucking done,” I said, looking at Dave.

“So do something about it while they’re still twenty feet away,” he said, handing me the silenced PPK.

“My pleasure,” I said.  I raised the Walther and sighted in on the bobbing head of the female.  I pulled the trigger to a dull
thwop!
and she stopped in her tracks, her arms down to her side, windmilling, and she fell backward, a crimson trail of vapor following her down.  Her head slammed into the pavement with a wet, dull sound.

The male zombie took no notice.  His penis had rotted down to a black nub, and what might have been balls at one time were a flat flap of skin. 

“Do the honors?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said, putting his things down on the ground and taking the gun.

“Silencer’s quiet, huh?” said Dave

“It is,” I agreed.

“Awesome,” he said, raising the PPK, one eye narrowed.  The creature was within ten feet.  Dave squeezed the trigger, and this one’s knees buckled under it, and it collapsed like a building being demolished with explosives.

Dave looked at me.  “I love the juice, Charlie, but this is a tad more satisfying.”

I knew what he meant.  Something about the smell of gunpowder or the thwack! of an arrow – or hell, even the thud of a baseball bat – any one of them were more substantial than watching them melt under the chemical reaction of the water and oil spray.

Nothing was as effective, though.  You couldn’t miss with urushiol.  Get it on them, and they’re going down.  Eventually, anyway.  After their legs dissolve, or their arms fall off, which pretty much renders them harmless enough until you can manage to put them completely down.

With the two diggers down for the final count, we picked up our things again and put it in the back seat of the car.

“We still need to find out who they were,” said Dave.  “Why don’t we just kind of drive in that direction and see what we see.”

The streets behind the bushes where the mystery people disappeared were residential.  We drove with our lights out, cruising slowly down the street, watching the houses.  We had the GPS clicked over to sight mode, and the AK on the roof was pointed at the houses, just in case we came under fire.

All the homes were dark and it was hard to see very much with the minimal moon.  Still, we drove down that street and turned the corner at the end, moving down the
next street back.

“Man.  They could be anywhere,” said Dave.

“But they are somewhere,” I said.  “And maybe the enemy of our enemy is our friend.”

“Profound shit,” said Dave.

“Old proverb,” I said.  “And sometimes, true.”

“Wait,” whispered Dave.  “Stop.”

I pulled the car to a stop.  “What?”

“There,” he said, pointing.  “That glow.  Look at that house, then look right in the middle of that window.  There’s a yellow glow.”

“Where?”  I squinted, but saw nothing.

“Charlie, right there.  Like candlelight.”

Then I saw it.  The hole could have been no more than an inch diameter, about dead center of a home with boarded up windows.

Dave reached for the binoculars I’d grabbed from the sporting goods store.  He held them up to his eyes.

“There’s something written on the plywood,” he said.  “At the bottom right corner.”

I grabbed the other pair of binoculars and looked.  “ZFZ4?”