Heart (44 page)

Hell, I had given up on finding
sex
.

I just wanted to look anything but tired,
weary and worn out.

Was that so much to ask?

“Welcome to the promised land, my friend,”
Haley whispered proudly before turning to a rack of longs-sleeve
tee’s.

I had a theory about why this section of the
department store was untouched and it went something like this. In
the beginning of the end, families protected their young. If you
were a teenager, you were home, holding down the fort. Especially
if you were a girl. The whole raping and pillaging thing didn’t
apply to most kids that still had parents around. And if you were
young and stupid enough to try to make it in a world where sane
people spent their time looting, overthrowing local government and
shooting at any and every potential threat, chances were your
inexperience and still rose-colored-glasses-of-the-world made sure
you ended up dead.

How Haley and I survived living on the street
and dodging not only the Feeders, but the crazed militia, and all
the old man creepers that thought we would make fantastic sister
wives was a straight up miracle. We got lucky in the beginning by
sheer location. Small town, middle-of-nowhere Iowa finally paid
off.

Well, except for the whole Quarterback-Chris
thing.

But it wasn’t like we didn’t get Feeders in
Atlantic, Iowa. Of course we did. Herpes was a worldwide disease.
Everybody
got Feeders, even remote islands in the middle of
Oceans. If there were people there, then there were people having
sex. And that meant STDs. Why? Because men would always be sluts.
Always.

Was I a little bitter about
Quarterback-Chris? Hell, yes.

Did I not mention he tried to
eat
me?

My parents were killed by Feeders. Haley’s
dad was killed by a Feeder. I was almost killed by a Feeder.

They were everywhere.

What we did have was an absence of a lot of
people and an abundance of guns. Thank you, farmer Fred, for your
once unnecessary stash of ex-military contraband.

I hopped over the counter, sliding my butt
across the filthy glass. My already-grimy jeans smeared a
dust-coated path the size of my hips. I landed on the pads of my
feet and my toes were smashed even worse in my small hiking boots,
but it was a soundless landing I was kind of proud of.

I had the reflexes of a cat, thanks to living
every minute of my life expecting an attack. If the world ever got
its f-ing act together and cleaned up this mess, I imagined they
would make a movie of my life about the whole Zombie thing. I’d
obviously be played by that hot brunette from the Vampire Diaries
in which I would run around in a sexy Cat Woman suit, totally
playing the super hero.

I opened the cabinets behind the makeup
counter and slipped my backpack off my shoulder. Inside my hiking
pack everything was orderly and neatly packed for maximum space and
easy access. But I didn’t have time for that now. I would
reorganize everything later.

I started swiping handfuls of products into
my bag, not caring about color or usefulness. This was what Haley
and I called the Grab and Go- get as many supplies as we could now,
as fast as we could, then leave the scene before either Feeders or
protective townsfolk happened upon us. We could sort it out later.
Without even having to discuss it with Haley, I knew she was
picking out shirts and jeans for me and she knew I would cover her
with whatever I could find.

After makeup, I hit up the clearance shoes,
except there wasn’t anything hiking, nature resilient or
weather-proofed. Haley’s shoes were in good condition actually, so
I didn’t bother debating over her. She was tiny by nature, not just
because we only ate every three days and probably had scurvy since
we were lacking serious vitamin C. She barely cleared 5’3, and her
feet were average size enough that she could double up on socks and
fit almost any pair we found.

I had clown feet even for my 5’8 frame and
most the time found myself searching the small-feeted men. There
were plenty of feet to choose from, but we didn’t run across the
right kind of shoe very often.

Like right now. There were a pair of tennis
shoes that I could upgrade to, and they were my size. Or should I
stick with the weather-proofed boots that would protect my feet
from the elements?

The other part of the debate- tennis shoes
were much lighter than these things, easier to walk across country
in and much, much nicer to run in.

Still, I had to protect my feet. And I
definitely didn’t want trench foot. Not that I knew what trench
foot was…. but I knew it was a big deal for everyone on Band of
Brothers- my go to reference for everything survival.

“Get the shoes that fit,” Haley said from
across the room while digging through every style of jeans.

“You’re right,” I agreed. A shoe that fit had
to be infinitely better than what I was wearing now. I toed off my
boots and ripped off my socks. There was a whole rack of socks near
the checkout counter, so I grabbed handfuls of them and stuffed
them in the bag, saving a crazy-patterned neon pair for now.

“Sweatpants?” Haley asked from a new
rack.

Moving quickly was essential to our survival,
and we had honed this skill in order to stay alive. “Absolutely,” I
agreed. Jeans were practical and resilient, but there was nothing
better than a pair of yoga pants when running for your life.

As I moved on to underwear-which might as
well have been gold at this point- the light grew dimmer in this
department. We were already squinting and stumbling around in the
dark, and I knew we had been here too long. I had a flashlight that
hadn’t run out of battery yet, but I really didn’t want to use it
if it meant drawing the attention of wandering Feeders.

“Haley, we need to go,” I whispered
harshly.

I heard her zip up her pack and shoulder it,
but I could barely make out her form anymore. We’d learned to act
as soon as a command was given between us. There was no time to
hesitate anymore, so by the time I’d slipped my heavy backpack on
again, she was already moving toward the exit.

One of the weirdest parts of the Apocalypse
was the quiet. I couldn’t get used to it. Back in my old life,
before the infection, there seemed to always be noise around. Cars
on the highway, music from my iPod, airplanes overhead, my parents
talking at me; there was always something in my ear. Now, there was
nothing, no background elevator jazz to soothe us while we shopped,
no other shoppers bustling around and bumping into us. The only
sound to break up the silence was our careful footsteps and the
heavy mouth-breathing from a Feeder in the next room.

Oh shit!

I grabbed the handle on Haley’s backpack and
tugged her backward. Her head whipped around and she opened her
mouth to probably ask
what the hell
, but I held my finger to
my lips and motioned with my head toward the way we just came from.
It took her a second, but as soon as she heard the panting and
wheezing in the next room she was instantly game for my plan of
retracing our steps.

There was plenty of food for the bastard in
the room he was in now, but I knew he would be able to sniff out
our live, fresh flesh in the next two minutes and that was like the
difference between prime rib and an old, moldy hot dog.

Best case scenario, he was going to lick the
hot dog first, and come back for it later, after he ate his prime
rib.

Which was me.

I stepped carefully until we were back in the
Junior’s Department, always keeping my gun trained on the direction
of the Feeder. Haley stood a little bit behind me, her gun aimed to
the left where this area opened up to the children’s section.

“Son of a bitch,” she breathed on a strangled
whisper.

A quick glance toward the direction of her
pointed gun, showed the glowing red eyes of two different Feeders.
That was the signature of the last stage of their digression into
Zombie-hood: first came the cravings for flesh, then the heart
stopping in a semi-death, the disgusting process in which their
brain still worked, but their bodies started to decay and then the
tell-tale red eyes, showing basically that all humanity was lost.
By then, they were stronger, didn’t feel pain and only craved
brains.

Basically, this
sucked
.

They could smell us, but couldn’t see us yet,
and so they were still trying to pinpoint us before they attacked.
Unfortunately, we could also smell them. What really sucked was
that there were at least three of them, these two and the one
munching away on all that delicious dead flesh.

They weren’t exactly pack animals, and
usually they traveled- wandered aimlessly- alone; but if they ever
found themselves together it was like they shared a hive brain or
something. They acted as a team, without speaking or seemingly
communicating, and once their eyes were red they were a hundred
times harder to take down.

Our backs were against the wall, literally,
and I wasn’t exactly sure how we were going to get out of this
one.

I glanced over my shoulder again and noticed
for the first time an exit toward the corner of the room. A
discounted clothing rack had been pushed up against it, and it was
barely visible in the almost completely-dark room, but a reflected
Exit sign was still pasted on the top.

As quietly as I could, I whispered, “Behind
us, Hale. An exit. Lead or Cover?”

Haley let my noise settle before she
answered. The Feeders had already started moving toward us. Despite
every Zombie movie I had ever seen, the real life versions were not
exactly the dumb and easy to kill version of walking corpses. They
were hunters, fast and intuitive. While humanity still had the
advantage of a rationalizing, fully functioning,
not-addicted-to-living-flesh advantage, they weren’t exactly a
helpless opponent.

“Cover,” Haley finally whispered back.

And with her blessing I turned on my heel and
sprinted for the door. I could feel her behind me, but out of
experience, I knew she was keeping her gun trained on the Zombies
that were now chasing us down to make snacks out of our innards. I
gave up on being quiet and threw anything that stood in my way.

The trip across the room took maybe five
seconds, but it felt like the longest run of my life. I could
already hear the Zombie from the other room tearing his way to join
his friends. My heart was hammering in my chest, my vision focused
only on the exit and my ears trained to listen for any
surprises.

As soon as they were in my reach, I grabbed
onto the tightly-packed, discounted clothes and went to toss the
rack, but it only swayed. Something was holding it to the
ground.

Pure panic prickled my blood and my eyes
watered immediately from the stress of the situation. I heard
Haley’s gun go off behind me, but because the mouth-breathing was
so loud I knew she had missed.

That meant she had four bullets left in her
magazine.

Shit. Shit. Shit
.

I pulled again on the rack of clothes and
this time it moved an inch. I realized then that it was tethered by
something on the ground. While Haley shot off another bullet, I
dropped to my hands and knees and felt blindly for whatever was
holding onto the base of the rack. Once I found the thick rope that
was tied to the base, I whipped out my pocket knife I kept in the
pocket of my pants and began cutting at the rope frantically.

Another shot from behind me and one of the
Feeders dropped to the ground.
Good shot, Hales.
There were
still at least two more Feeders left, and I could hear more
commotion from the front entrance. All these shots were probably
drawing everything out there in here.

I finally got through the rope, but as soon
as the slack was gone, something huge and clanging crashed to the
ground just on the other side of the door. It sounded like pots or
pans and a whole bunch of breaking glass.

Shit!!!

I didn’t have time to process that right now,
so I stood up, effectively shoved the rack out of the way and went
for the door handle. Another gun shot behind me and another Feeder
dropped to the ground.

I lunged for the door handle, and turned it
desperately. And nothing.

It was locked.

“No!” I screamed, not caring about the noise
level at this point.

Haley’s last bullet exited her gun and the
last Feeder felt the hit and fell to the ground directly behind me.
These guys were dead, but there were who knew how many now headed
toward us. Haley was out of bullets, and I had three left.

And our only exit was locked.

“What are you waiting for, Reagan. Let’s get
the
hell
out of here!” Haley’s back was still to me as she
faced her now empty gun at the hallway, just waiting for the rest
of the Feeders to follow the sounds and find us.

“It’s locked!
Damn it
!”

Completely panicked, I yanked on the handled
and kicked it with my new shoe. Nothing happened. The door stayed
firmly locked, stubbornly unmoving. This was definitely worst case
scenario.

And not ten minutes ago I had been really
excited about all that eye liner and a new pair of jeans.

This was so not how I was going out. I’d
survived Quarterback-Chris, the death of my parents and almost two
freaking years of living as the most depressing version of Mila
Jovovich in
Resident Evil
ever.

“Open, damn it!” I screamed at the door,
giving it another kick with my foot.

Only this time, my foot didn’t connect with
anything. The door wrenched open and my body flew, following my
foot, through the empty space I wasn’t expecting. I fell straight
to my hands and knees in a huge pile of glass shards and broken
ceramic. I felt the thick chunks of debris dig and slice through my
skin immediately. My jeans would be completely irreparable after
this and, with my luck, as soon as I was able to stop bleeding; I
was for sure going to get gangrene.