Friggin Zombies (11 page)

I apologized.

“Heather,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. I still couldn't hear that well. She looked at me.

“Heather, I'm really sorry about this,” I said softly. “I didn't mean for that to happen. I just wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you two.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I saw him earlier, standing outside,” she added, though she very carefully didn't look at Methie. “I thought he was just creepy, you know? Maybe waiting for me to come outside after work? We always call the police for an escort when we close so I didn't call them about him before. I wish I had, now.”

So did I, but it wouldn't do to say that.

“Don't worry about that now,” I said instead, shaking my head. “It's not your fault. This guy came in here to rob you and he might have hurt both of you doing it. I still wouldn't have made you see that if I could have helped it.”

“Better than the alternative,” she shrugged and that kinda surprised me. Heather was apparently not just another blonde. (If you're a blonde don't take that personal. There's a girl at my office that's. . . well, you don't care about that.) This girl was smarter than the average pizza cashier it seemed.

I heard a siren about then and looked outside. I couldn't see the car yet but blue strobes were reflecting off anything that would catch a light. I walked to the bench along the wall and sat down. Better to look non-threatening so that some over-eager little JBT didn't shoot me on sight.

Okay, that wasn't fair. Our city police were mostly good guys as far as I knew and a few were even members of our gun club. Still, better safe than sorry, right? Three patrol cars screeched to a halt in front of the store and four officers got out, guns in hand. One came to the door and opened it, seeing Connie and Heather standing behind the counter and I caught my first break of the night. I knew the guy.

“Harold, don't shoot us,” I said calmly and he turned to face me. He was all business until he saw me and relaxed a bit.

“Drake?” Harold Falter's eyes shot up. “What the hell, man?”

“Methie,” I pointed to the dead guy, “tried to rob this place a few minutes ago. We tried to call 911 but we couldn't get a signal. He had a gun,” I pointed to the revolver lying on the floor next to Methie. “I was gonna to try and get the drop on him because we couldn't get through to you guys, but the damn door bell rang and he turned the gun on me. Better than the kids,” I shrugged. Harold holstered his gun and keyed his radio.

“Go ahead and send the wagon,” he ordered. “Scene secure.” In seconds an ambulance rolled into the lot.

“I really don't think they can help him,” I told Harold. He snorted at my statement of obviousness.

“For the girl,” he nodded to Heather. “You and Connie?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Just wanted a pizza before the zombies hit, you know?” I said helplessly. “Fuckin' meth-head.”

“It's all right, Drake,” Harold told me, sitting down beside me. “Never had to do this before I take it?”

“No reason to,” I nodded. I have to admit that I was taking this pretty well. I'd never really thought of myself as a killer, you know? But I was now.

“This won't mean much right now,” Harold said gently, “but you did a good thing, bro. Don't sweat it.”

“I suppose you'll wanna take me to jail?” I asked and I might have tensed just a bit. I was not going to spend the start of the zombie apocalypse in jail. Not even for Harold. I looked up as two more officers came inside, one with his gun still out.

“Normally, yeah,” Harold admitted. “Tonight is anything but normal, though. The world's coming to an end, you know?” he grinned slightly and I couldn't help but snort as I nodded.

“Look, I'm supposed to take your gun and log it as evidence, but. . .I think you'll need it before long.” He paused and looked at the other two cops. Both of whom shrugged as if to say 'whatever you think'.

“Let one of these guys get your statement, and Connie's, and then you guys get outta here,” Harold said suddenly. “This whole night has been crazy and it's just getting worse. We've got too much going to hold someone like you. Besides I know where to find you,” he grinned. Harold Falter had drank many a beer on my couch watching college football.

“Yeah, you know where to find me,” I agreed. Harold slapped me on the shoulder and then got to his feet. One of his men came and sat down beside me with a clipboard as the EMTs moved in. They spared a glance for Methie and then went to check on Heather. I heard Connie telling them what she had observed, then Harold was talking to her.

“Name?” the officer who sat down beside me asked.

“I don't know his name,” I admitted. “Never seen him before.”

“I meant your name, sir,” he said gently and I felt stupid. Of course he meant my name.

“Sorry,” I told him and he waved it off as unimportant.

“Shelton Drake,” I told him. “Everyone just calls me Drake.” I spent probably the next twenty minutes going over what had happened with Officer. . .you know, I don't know his name. I didn't think to ask and he didn't offer and I don't know who he was. Ain't that a hell of a thing? You'd think I'd remember the guy who talked to me about blowing someone's head off, wouldn't you?

Anyway, after twenty or so minutes of that he finally stood up. Officer I Don't Know looked down at me and smiled just a little.

“Between you and me,” he said softly, “you did the town a favor. This guy is. . .was, bad news. A predator, if you know what I mean. If what Heather said was accurate, he would probably have hurt her if not killed her outright. Rick too. I know that might not help much now, but remember it. You're free to go Mister Drake. Just don't leave town.”

I looked up at him. Did he really just say that? Then I saw him smile and chuckled a little. This guy wasn't very old but seemed to know just how to help someone move along.

“I've always wanted to say that,” he confided with a wink. “Go home, sir. Be safe.” With that he was gone, out the door and to another call I'd guess. I hope he made it. He was a good guy. Harold was the last to leave, waiting as the M.E. van pulled in to retrieve Methie. I never did ask what his name was. Don't really care to be honest. Fuckin' meth-head.

“Drake, time for you to go home bro,” Harold told me. “It's all right, man. If the world doesn't end we'll probably have to have a Coroner's Inquest, but. . .I wouldn't hold my breath,” he admitted.

“That bad?” I asked. He looked around as if to see if anyone was listening then turned back to me, his face hard.

“Lying bastards waited until whatever this thing is was in the States before saying anything. I don't know if it will get out or not but. . .the news we're getting is bad. All of it. That's why nobody gives a shit about a dead meth-head. One less zombie to kill later.”

“Zombie,” I repeated the word.

“No one's callin 'em that,” Harold admitted. “But I've seen the videos. Some of them anyway. New York, Boston, Baltimore and D.C. all have reported cases. There's unconfirmed reports out of Atlanta, Jacksonville and Miami. All east coast International Airports. All flight from Europe. If they had just shut down the incoming we might have been all right.” He stopped suddenly shaking his head angrily.

“Anyway, the last report I saw, about an hour-and-a-half ago, said the situation in New York was and I quote, 'grave'. 'Serious' was the word for the others. Apparently containment is lost. So you watch yourself.”

“Harold, if things get too bad what are you going to do?” I asked him suddenly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I ain't got that far,” he admitted finally. “I need to hang in as long as I can I guess. I took an oath. Can't very well just run out on that, can I?” he grinned sourly.

“Harold, if you need anything, or a place to go when the shit gets deep, remember you know where I am,” I told him. This man was my friend and had just done me a great big fat favor. No way was I going to leave him hanging.

“I appreciate that D. I really do. And I'll remember. Now get your fine ass woman and get the hell out of here while you still can. Be safe.” I shook his hand and waved for Connie to join me. She hugged Heather the Pizza girl and met me at the door.

“Are you okay?” she asked, worry in her eyes. Her concern made my heart flutter a bit. I nodded, taking her hand. She squeezed my hand and we headed for Baby. I helped her inside the driver's door and then crawled in behind her. It was all my legs would do to get me in the cab.

“Let's go home, Drake,” Connie said gently. She had moved over only enough to let me get inside and sat beside me all the way to the house. I didn't speak. I really didn't have anything to say to be honest. There was only one thing that was bothering me at the moment. 

That it
hadn't
bothered me to kill Methie. I mean, on the face of it, why should it, right? Nominally he was a human being, but he was also a piece of shit. A predator Officer I Don't Know had called him. Son-of-a-bitch was probably going for a two-fer in robbing the place and hurting Heather The Pizza Girl (I need to stop calling her that don't I?). And he would have shot me just for walking inside.

World was better off without him, right? Like Harold had said, one less Zombie to kill when the time came, right?

“Drake are you all right?” Connie's soft questions cut into that train of thought.

“I'm fine,” I told her, meaning it. “I wish it hadn't happened,” I admitted, glancing at her with a half-ass smile. “Kinda ruined our evening. Sorry.”

“Shut up,” she said gently and kissed me lightly. “That was a brave thing you did back there. He would have hurt Heather if not killed her. Her and Rick both. You saved them, Drake.”

“Yeah, big hero,” I snorted. “All I did was shoot a thug. In front of a teen-age girl who'll probably need years of therapy. Assuming she doesn't get eaten by zombies of course,” I just
had
to add.

“Drake I'm not listening to that shit,” she said more forcefully. “Harold told me that guy was well known to them and he's attacked more than one young woman. He's always been able to intimidate them into not pressing charges so he's gotten away with it until tonight.”

“Most men would have driven away and then maybe,
maybe
gone to City Hall and reported it then gone home to eat pizza. Do you remember what you said when you started to get out of the truck?” she asked. I looked at here for a second, probably with a dumb look on my face. Hell all I could remember was her kissing me.
That
I would remember as long as I lived.

“You said, and I quote, 'I can't let him kill that kid'. Exact words. You never thought about your own safety.
That
I'm not too thrilled over to be honest,” she frowned. “But you walked right in there because of those two teenagers. I'm pretty sure Heather has a little hero crush on you already,” she teased gently and I snorted again.

“I'm taken,” I said without thinking and she leaned against me.

“You damn sure are,” she whispered into my ear, her voice husky. My spine tingled at that along with a few other things as well.

My head was still spinning when I pulled into the yard and closed the gate behind me. Ram was barking his little head off in the garage, happy to see his mommy. We carried the now cold pizza into the house and I took a quick shower while Connie played with Ram and cleaned up after him. I came into the kitchen still drying my hair. Connie had the pizza heating in the oven and went to shower and change, telling me to watch the pizza.

I sat down at the table and did just that. While I sat there I played the events over one more time and realized there really wasn't anything I could have done different. As I thought back to my conversation with Harold I remembered what he'd said about some cases already being in the States. I got up and went to get my laptop, setting it on the kitchen table. Soon I was perusing news sites looking for new information.

There was a lot of newly posted stories but so far the media was downplaying the cases of the 'virus' already present in the States. True, they reported the 'incidents', but made no effort to challenge the official story. They took it at face value and passed it on to Joe Six-pack without even trying to investigate.

“What are you looking at?” Connie asked as she came back into the kitchen. She smelled like roses and looked even better. I just showed her the screen as I flipped through the pages from the large cities news stations.

“Harold told me things were pretty bad already,” I informed her as she took the pizza from the oven. “Says that the Feds sat on things until the virus was already loose. He doesn't know if they can contain it now. There are reports of outbreaks in New York, D.C., Baltimore, Boston, Atlanta, Jacksonville and Miami. He noted they were all eastern International Airports. All with flights direct from Europe.”

“So it's already here,” she said stoically and I nodded.

“'Fraid so.” I shut the laptop and sat there. Connie was back and forth for a few moments and then suddenly she was standing right in front of me.

“All right, mister,” she said sternly. “You owe me a movie.” She held out her hand and I couldn't help but laugh a little. I let her pull me out of my chair and lead me to the den where she already had a movie playing. We ate a little pizza while we watched Iron Man kill terrorists, then ate some more while we watched Paul Bettany kill vampires. By the time that one was over Connie was almost in my lap, kissing gently on my ear. I don't recall if Bettany killed the last vamp or not if you know what I mean.