Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (26 page)

God, I hated the
nightmares
.
But ever since the Ativan ran out, they’d come back in full, excruciating
force. If only the last pharmacy had stocked it; I’d doubted the looters would
have taken it. People were always after the obvious drugs- the antibiotics, the
pain killers. Rarely were they after anti-depression mood enhancers. That’s
exactly what I wanted though. Something to calm the quiet in my head so I could
get some damn rest. Not sleep. I needed rest.
What pharmacy doesn’t stock
Lorazepam?

The sun was low
in the sky, about 4 o’clock now. The day had grown hot, oppressively so; rays
of light shone orange and warmed the air into the 100s. There were still
several excessively hot hours to pass before late evening brought comfortable
conditions.

The landscape
around seemed to undulate with heat waves. The sight of it and the layer of
continuous sweat wetting my body would have me dehydrated in little time.
Ranger and I desperately needed water and other supplies and we’d already been
through one town- a blur of chaos, killing, and everything was already
ransacked. So, not only did I come away without Ativan, I’d come away without
anything of use. There’d been one chance to fill the canteen, but that had been
interrupted by a small wave of hungry midgets, so Ranger and I had beat feet.
Water was the most important- we needed either potable water or a water source
to purify. Barely a ration left now…

I focused back
on the small cluster of shops at the bottom of the rise. The variable scope
brought the details into crystal clarity. The rifle, attached to said scope,
was a Winchester ’06 with a fancy, but worn, maple stock. Its attached
shoulder-strap had been nearly useless, the leather dried from the Texas sun,
and I hadn’t trusted it with the weight of the gun. So, I had used the dead
man’s belt to create a new one. I hadn’t liked uncovering the bodies to get it,
but I knew it would work well and I wasn’t one to snub my nose at useful and
free materials.

The rifle was
old, pre-1964, with a USMC marking on it and most likely a sniper rifle once
upon a time. The variable target scope was distinctive, bringing details into
crystal clarity. But whatever its history, the gun was perfect for my needs and
a hell of a find. I blinked my eyes twice, clearing the drops of sweat from my
vision. Nothing was moving around the mall- not man nor beast nor killer kid.
That was good. Before I’d rested, Ranger and I had been on the move for six
hours straight. Honestly, that wasn’t long in terms of what our bodies could
handle, but between the heat and fighting the… infected
children
it was
a challenge, even for someone with my training. I was also a little worried
about Ranger. I could tell he was suffering from the sun baking his damaged skin.
The lack of fur exposed him. I needed to get some kids’ sunblock. I’d used the
last of what I had a few mornings ago. If only the last town hadn’t been a
total loss.

It seemed like
every hovel and alley we had passed was chock-full of the kids. I just needed a
break from the chaos.

Looking away
from the scope, I whistled low, calling Ranger to my side. He trotted up, a
moderately-sized common gray fox hanging from his mouth. “Good job, Ranger.
Let’s save it for later.” He dropped the haul and plunked to his haunches. I
could tell he was irritated. We needed to eat, he wanted to eat, and had he
devoured his catch rather than generously bringing it back to me, he’d have
satisfied his own hunger at least. “I promise; we’ll eat after this town.”

Ranger cocked
his head and growled low. “You’ll live, Boy.” Standing up, I capped the scope
and hung the makeshift rifle strap across my body like a pageant winner’s sash.
Course, I was about as far removed from a beauty queen as I could get. Yanking
the leather cord that held my hair back, I ran my fingers through to catch a
few rogue strands that were distracting me and then retied the band. My hands
were rough, sandpaper against my scalp. I squinted into the waning sunshine.
This was our second town.

I sighed and
rubbed my right knee gingerly. Rolling my shoulders, I shifted the rifle so it
sat across my pack and I smiled. It had been a lucky find. The truck had been
great for a while also, but it had been nearly empty when I’d found it and had
left me high and dry short of the first town. The radio reports had given me a
bit more information as I’d driven though. ‘Z children’ and the ‘Z infected’,
the CDC had coined. Apparently, they were dead, but not dead. I didn’t know why
they didn’t just call a spade a spade.

They were
fucking zombies.

I’d been right
to limit contact with the bodily fluids in the truck; that’s how this shit
spread. And now there were reports of it spreading overseas. It was localized
to the United States this morning, but now there were reports in Europe,
Africa, Australia… everywhere. The communicable nature of modern travel- all it
would take was one carrier on one plane to infect an entire province.

I pulled the
pistol out of the holster, now positioned on my right hip where it belonged;
the sound of metal on the green nylon made a slight scraping noise in the eerie
silence. I’d kept the gun in my pack for some time, the sight of it reminding
me of the dead boy and father. But now the revolver was packed away in its
place and the .45 was accessible. I needed it to be, brutal reminder that it
was, because danger was everywhere.

“Let’s go,
Ranger. Keep your ears peeled.” I patted my thigh once and the dog was at my
side, ears perked and nose twitching. The way his hair instantly stood up on
his neck… he could already smell trouble- that rotting stench that marked the
infected. “Guess it would be too much to ask for this to be a walk in the park,
huh Boy?” I patted his head and he low-growled affectionately, but also to tell
me to get my head in the game. Sometimes, the dog made a little too much
sense. 

I felt
comfortable with the Colt .45 in my hand as I began the slow 400 meter walk
down to the mall, Ranger at my side. Besides my pack and its contents it was
the only thing I really owned, a remnant of my times in the groups. A time when
I was happy and felt needed. A time when the world made sense and it was just
good guys against very bad guys. Quietly and with skilled, practiced hands, I
pulled out the suppressor, also made accessible in the left cargo pocket of my
pants, and spun it onto the threaded barrel, no sense in calling additional
attention to myself if there was trouble. I’d found out quickly that in this
new world noise meant dying. The enemy was different, but practices are always
the same. Quiet was always key to survival. But even absolute silence could not
deafen the sound of an unexpected IED.

It creates a
vacuum.

A tunnel, the
complete absence of sound. When Ranger and I had been caught in one, the IED
that had left him so scarred, I thought I’d never hear again.

It creates a
vacuum.

I shook my head
vigorously, dislodging the repetition that threatened to distract me and
focusing on the South Gate mall sign. Distraction would get me killed. I needed
the damn Ativan. This town had to have it, or I’d lose my fucking mind in this
war, this war against children. Children… too small to fight. Not these
children. They were dead, lifeless, slight bodies intent on a rapid kill.
Fuck.
I need my medicine.

Somehow, in the
mind fog, I’d nearly found my way to the u-shaped strip mall. Ranger was
walking so close to me that his fur continuously brushed my pant leg. It was
likely his presence that allowed me to move on auto-drive.

Closing the
short remaining distance to the structure, I kept my eyes open wide, looking
for movement. The stores were all interconnected like a hive. And I knew that,
just like an actual hive would spell trouble if disturbed, this maze of hiding
places here was dangerous, with a capital D. No signs of life. Likely, if there
was anyone here… anything… they wouldn’t be alive. They’d be other. The Z
children. The Z infected.

I stood now, my
shoulder pressed against a wall between the shallow depression of building material
that separated the shops, yet kept them connected. There were maybe five large
stores in total with three or four specialty stores that were complete wastes
of space in terms of ‘end of the world’ foraging. Who the hell was going to go
after scented candles and custom tee shirts? Now, the large multicultural
market and hardware store might have some damn useful items that survived the
initial panic purchasing and looting. Vitamins, camping gear, large tools. Like
an ax, that would be a hell of a weapon and help me conserve ammunition. Maybe
the market would even have a pharmacy. That would be a stroke of luck.

Not that I ever
banked on luck being a lady. More often than not, she was a freak in the street
and I never had a buck and change to pay for a night of pleasure.

I dropped the
safety on the .45 as my eyes began to count the vehicles in view. Sixteen in
sight. Twenty, maybe twenty-two adult shoppers, plus kids, and employees of the
adjacent stores. A lot of people, a lot of potential infected… a lot of danger.
I couldn’t let my guard down. I could be dangerous and effective, even under
the worst circumstances, but it only took a second to go from vital and alive
to dead. Underestimating the threat, the child monsters, that would be the last
thing a person ever did. Shoot first. Ask questions later.

Looking into the
first glass store front, I was uncomfortably aware that I was down to 54 rounds
for my weapons- thirty for the rifle and the balance for the pistol. That
wasn’t good. Ammo almost ranked up there with water- and I needed a resupply of
both, or the guns would be no better than makeshift clubs. I had the farmer’s
old six-shooter also, but the weapon was well-used and poorly maintained. I
wanted to service it before I used it and I was sure that, at some point, I’d
have to use it and its additional box of bullets from the pickup. Until I could
call it trustworthy though, I didn’t factor it in.

I wanted to head
straight for the grocery and hardware store- both were at the opposite end of
the mall from me- but instinct and training wouldn’t let me. I needed to clear
each building in sequence, one at a time, so I wasn’t leaving an enemy at my
back.

Squatting at the
corner of the first store’s front glass and not allowing my body the relief of
even a small muscle twitch, I scanned the inside. It was one of those dollar
type stores, the ones where everything’s made in China and ‘discounted’ so
people think they’re getting a massive deal.

The continual
row of shelves made it difficult to see down aisles, but there was definitely
movement. “Ready?” I looked at Ranger, his head almost at eye level with my
squatting down. I pointed two fingers toward the store and shook them up and
down twice. Go time. Slowly, we moved to the entrance and eased through the
double doors. The well-maintained hinges made no noise. As the doors reclosed
quietly behind me, I was jarred into an alternate reality that superimposed the
landscape of Kabul onto the geography of the cluttered store. This was a damn
good place to get dead.

Three
dimensional- shelves stocked to the ceiling, counters blocking sight lines,
helium-filled balloons clumped together in a massive display near the
registers. So many places to hide. This time, I pointed to the right, directing
Ranger to scout the outermost aisles as I moved down the middle. 

I moved quietly,
taking one aisle at a time until I saw my first targets. Ranger appeared as
soon as I saw them; he stood as still as a statue, his alert and intelligent
eyes assessing the threat. 

Two little boys
were sitting on top of what was left of the store manager, his silver name
badge askew and bloodied, his chest an open, nearly emptied cavity of torn and
chewed flesh. Behind the children and their conquest were two infected adults,
swaying as if they were enjoying a cool breeze.

Ranger stepped
forward, preparing to attack, but he looked at me first for confirmation. I
shook my head and held my hand up, palm down. The dog immediately dropped to
his haunches, but kept his butt elevated above the floor, prepared to attack if
necessary- regardless of orders. He was my kind of soldier- the kind that could
make a judgement call and do what was necessary, even if his commanding officer
had told him to stand down. 

This wasn’t my
first rodeo now. I knew there was no reasoning with the Z infected. Bringing
the .45 up, I took aim. The sound of the safety dropping was like a blast
ricocheting through the relatively quiet store and I was not surprised when the
smaller of the two kids snapped his head around and glared at me. I’d found
that the zombie kids had a sixth sense about them, as if the disease had gifted
them with heightened senses as well as strength. Even the smallest noise was an
organ blasting a shrill key to their ears.

The pistol
recoiled in my hand. Twice the suppressed report sounded like the hiss of a
caged viper. Two shots and two kills. The rounds went straight though the heads
of the creatures and, unlike the movies, they continued down range- one struck
the leg of the adult female infected and dropped her to the ground. Her face
was no longer emotionless, but contorted in anger. She began to pull herself
across the worn store carpet towards the dead Z children. The second infected
adult followed her.