Rabid (4 page)

“The only problem with that is what if we get over there and the door is locked?”  He walked up to the window and stood next to his brother, bringing his face close to the window without pressing up against it.  “The coast is clear
now
, and maybe we could make it across the street fast enough, but what happens when we hit that door and it’s locked?  Because you know it’s going to be.  Besides the fact that no business owner with his head on straight is going to forget to lock up his own store, we’re just not that fucking lucky.  How many times have you left the front door to your house unlocked?”

“Plenty of times.”

“Okay.  Bad example.  Say you owned a business.  Wouldn’t you want to make sure the door was locked?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I didn’t mean we should get across the street, try the handle and say ‘oh well, it’s locked, guess we might as well move on.’  I meant we break the glass out of the door if we have to.  Or just try the back door.”

“Breaking the glass will make enough noise to bring those things down on us.  And if we break the door, there won’t be anything between us and them.”

“True.”  Carl tapped his knuckles lightly against the window.  “But is
this
really gonna stop them if they want to get in?”

“You’ve got a point, but it’ll be dark enough in another hour or so.  An hour difference isn’t worth the risk.”

Carl sighed and walked back to the counter.  He took another drink from the water bottle, grimacing at the taste of it.  His stomach protested loudly against its lack of food.

Taylor sat down on the floor, back resting against the front of the counter.  Carl sat down next to him.  Together, they watched and waited.

An hour passed.  In all that time, they hadn’t heard the sound of running footsteps.  The mob hadn’t passed by the window again.

Taylor unlocked the front door and opened it, cautiously at first, looking up and down the street.  The town seemed silent and empty.  The clouds had dispersed, the sky was clear, and for a moment Taylor admired the stars and the curved sliver of moon.  The cold had arrived with the night, and he wished for a jacket.  The sky was always clearer on a cold night.  He didn’t know why that was.  He thought there was probably a scientific explanation for it.

He stepped onto the sidewalk outside the store, Carl holding the door open behind him.  “It looks clear to me,” he whispered.  Before he had unlocked the front door, Taylor had emphasized the need to whisper from this point forward.  Carl had rolled his eyes.

They walked alongside the buildings, both of them looking over their shoulders frequently. 

“It’s not that far.  It looked farther away from behind the glass,” Carl said, talking about the hardware store.

Several blocks up, the street dead-ended.  It was like seeing the edge of the world, Taylor thought.  Walk any farther than that and you were bound to fall off the edge.  He pointed ahead and said, “The street dead ends up there.  When we leave, we’ll have to decide whether to go right or left.”

“Left.  Take a left and we’d be moving closer to the highway,” Carl said.

They crossed the street.  Taylor figured they looked like a couple of dumb shits practically tiptoeing over the asphalt.

“Is this what it feels like?  This what you were talkin’ about?  Feeling like the last man on Earth when you’re walking around town by yourself in the middle of the night.”

“It’s close.  Imagine this, but without the sense of impending doom.”

Carl reached the front door of Dave’s Hardware first.  He gave the handle a quick tug and shook his head.  “No dice,” he said.  “Locked.  Just like we figured.”

Taylor walked along the front of the building.  Between Dave’s Hardware and the pharmacy next to it, there was a narrow alley, barely wide enough to drive a car through.  “Let’s try down here.”

Carl could hear the sound of his own footfalls.  They had never seemed so loud to him before, but now each step he took sounded like a thunderclap.  

When they reached the lot behind the hardware store they both noticed the same thing first.  “A
car!
” Carl said.

It was a battered Ford Escort that hadn’t seen a good day for at least a decade.  A leftover from the nineties, Taylor thought.  Carl ran up to it and tried all the doors.  They were all locked.  “Shit!”

“Whoever left it here parked it awful close to the back door.  Can’t be more than two feet between the door and the front bumper.”

“Maybe they were in a hurry.  Definitely belongs to a chick.  No dude would have a stuffed penguin hanging from the rearview mirror.”

“Not in enough of a hurry to forget to lock their car doors,” Taylor said, and tried the handle of the back door to Dave’s Hardware.

It was unlocked.

“I’ll be damned,” Carl said.  “What are the chances?  Would have been a good day to buy a lottery ticket.”

Taylor entered the building first, hand instinctively touching his pocket to feel the comforting form of the box cutter. 

The room was dark and smelled of oil and sawdust.  They had grown up with the same odor frequently wafting out of their father’s workshop.  Taylor had never cared for it; as a kid, it had played hell with his allergies.

“I can’t see shit,” Carl said.

“I know.  So be careful.  Just stay behind me.”

Taylor inched his way to the left, arms extended in front of him, slowly shuffling forward until the tips of his fingers brushed up against the wall.  He pressed both of his hands, palms forward, against the wall and followed it until he reached the wall in front of them.  He followed this until the texture beneath his hands changed from rough drywall to the smoothness of varnished wood.  He allowed his right hand to explore until he felt the seam between the door and wall.  Finding the doorknob was easy after that.

Carl’s hand was on the back of his shoulder. 

Taylor said, “I found the door.”

He opened it and a moment later they could see again.  Light from the streetlamps outside shone through the front windows, providing enough illumination to navigate through the store.  Long rows of shelves lined one side of the store to the other.  Shadowed things lined the walls, appearing somewhat ominous in the faint light. 

“Looks a lot bigger on the inside,” Carl said.  He had regained some of his former confidence.  After they had crossed the street and found their way into the hardware store without incident, he was beginning to think that maybe things would be all right; that maybe the crazies had found something else to chase.

They wandered down the aisles.  The streetlamps provided ample light to see if you were at the front of the store near the checkout area, but it became more difficult browsing the darkened aisles.  Taylor searched for flashlights.  He assigned his brother the task of locating batteries and grabbing a variety of them. 

It took him five minutes to find the aisle where the flashlights were kept.  He plucked several different ones from their pegs and used the box cutter to strip away the tough plastic packaging.  He tucked them under his arm and carried them to the front of the store, aligning them along the floor where the ambient light was good. 

Carl returned carrying several packages of batteries in each hand.  Taylor sorted through them.  He handed one of the packages to Carl and said, “Use these.  They go with that one.”  He worked on one of the other flashlights, screwing the end back on and sliding the switch to the ON position.  The flashlight shot a beam of light down one of the aisles.  Carl had his working a moment later.

“Okay.  Now that that’s done, find anything useful.  But make sure it’s something we can carry without too much trouble.  Keep your eyes peeled for a set of car keys.  Unless the owner of that Ford out back ran out of here with the keys still in their pocket, they’re bound to be here somewhere.  I’ll check by the register.  If you want, check the backroom.  It was dark as hell back there when we came in.  There might be an office back there or something.  Worst case, we try to hotwire the damn thing.”

“And when did you learn how to do that?”

“I don’t know how, but if there was ever a time to try to learn, this is probably it.  It would make things a lot less complicated if it worked out that easy.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Carl said and started down one of the aisles, the beam of his flashlight dancing back and forth in front of him. 

Taylor glanced out the front windows.  The street was still empty.  He was grateful for that. 

He aimed the beam over the checkout area, across the counter and the cash register, and then along the shelves behind it.  No keys.  He started down the far left aisle.  Various outdoor implements hung on the wall to his left: shovels, ladders, hoses, gardening tools, bags of soil, hedge clippers; there was an entire section devoted to different styles of gloves. 

Taylor reached up and took the hedge clippers down from the peg.  They were awkward and heavy to try wielding them with only one hand, and he put them aside, continuing his way along the wall.

Taylor found gas cans at the end of the second aisle.  They were made of durable plastic, and he picked one of them up.  Farther down the aisle, he found an assortment of spray bottles.  He browsed the aisles until he found the paint section and located a canvas drop cloth.  He carried it to the other aisle, spread it out on the floor, and dropped the gas canister and several spray bottles onto the center of the drop cloth.  He folded the four corners and hoisted it over his shoulder, feeling a little like Santa Claus with a bag full of toys.

Carl came around the corner, shining his flashlight in Taylor’s face.

“Get that thing out of my face,” Taylor said.

“What you got there?” Carl asked, directing the flashlight’s beam at the makeshift canvas sack.

“Gas can and spray bottles.  Figure we can fill them with water before we ditch this place.”

“See what I got?”  Carl held up his hand.  He was holding a machete.  “Thought it might come in handy.”

“Any luck finding the keys?”          

“I haven’t been back there yet.  You?”

“Nothing up front at the checkout.  Find anything else useful?”

“Not really.”

“Let’s go in the back and check -”

The thunderous roar began again.  Distant at first, and then growing louder by the second.  Taylor killed his flashlight and gestured for Carl to do the same.  Each sat down on one side of the aisle, backs against the cold metal shelving, and they watched as the mob passed by the front windows.

“Still running,” Carl said.  “I can’t believe it.  They must never get tired.  It’s almost like they’re doing laps.  The town isn’t that big is it?  It’s been how many hours since we saw them last?  If they’ve been running the whole time, what took them so long to make it back this way?”

“Don’t ask me.  Maybe they found something they were looking for along the way.  Maybe they stopped off at the local diner for some grub.”

They remained seated until the sound of the mob’s running feet had faded away completely.  Taylor stood up and re-shouldered the makeshift canvas bag.  “Let’s see if we can find those keys in the backroom and we’ll go figure things out from there.”

Carl had found a scabbard for the machete and had fastened it to his belt, looking like a modern-day swashbuckler with the machete sheathed along his left hip.

The backroom of Dave’s Hardware was roomier than the backroom of the women’s clothing store.  There were boxes stacked along the walls.  There was a bathroom and a small office.  There was only enough room in the office for a desk and a chair.  A corkboard hung above the desk, papered with invoices and Post-It notes.

Taylor checked the desk.  He rooted through the drawers and came up empty-handed.

“I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, but for some reason I got my hopes up anyway.”

He put the canvas drop cloth down and opened it, handing several of the spray bottles to Carl.  “Let’s fill these up.  After that, we can fiddle with the Escort out back.  Worst case, we can’t figure out how to hotwire it and we have to leave some of this stuff behind.  I’m not going to be able to lug all this around very far once it’s filled with water.”

Taylor listened to the sound of water running in the bathroom sink as Carl filled the bottles.  All he had asked for was to find the car keys.  It was a small favor to ask, but for some reason God had chosen not to grant it.  All of it followed a certain pessimistic logic he had developed over the years.  If that continued, then they would be shit out of luck when it came to the Escort.  He knew that as surely as he had known they wouldn’t find the keys. 

But once in a great while you got lucky.

“Finished,” Carl said.

“Lay them down on there.  As close to the center as possible.”

Carl arranged the filled bottles and gas canister on the canvas.  When he was finished, Taylor folded the edges over again.

Carl had his hand on the handle of the exit door.  He glanced back at Taylor before opening it.  “You ready?”

“Do it.”