Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue (28 page)

Miss Rose gathered up the girls, and we left the pharmacy office. We stepped into the store and silently made our way through the broken aisles towards the front door. The only noise was our shoes on the dusty black and white tiles. Freedom and a trip home were only a few feet away across the floor of the drugstore. As we walked, another different kind of noise came from the general direction of the counter.

It was a low growl.

Claire and I stopped. Miss Rose and the girls bumped into us. “It must be Marianne,” Miss Rose said. “Not all of us made it across the street.”

We all ducked down in the shadow of one of the store fixtures. “What happened to Marianne?” I asked.

“She was bitten in the bank. I didn't know about it until we got over here. By then, it was too late. She started turning...” Miss Rose paused to collect her thoughts, and swallow some tears. “I locked the girls in the office, then I took the axe to put her down. She was moving around too much. I hit her in the head, but I guess it wasn't hard enough.” Another growl, louder this time, came from the counter. “Now she's inside the store with us.” Miss Rose started wringing her hands, then grabbed on to my jacket. “Please promise me you'll kill her. I hate to think of her being one of those things forever.”

The first priority was to get the hell out of here, zombie or not. Miss Rose looked at me with her sad eyes, and said, “Please...promise me.”

I took her hand, and tried to ease her anxiety. “Okay. I'll see what I can do.”

Marianne made her appearance on the floor of the drugstore. Her white shirt was stained with blood from the unsuccessful axe attack, and her dark hair was still in a smart ponytail. The walking corpse held on to the counter and the attached stools as she walked along. New zombies were always wobbly for a few days after turning. They needed time to get used to their new, undead legs. Every once in a while, Marianne the zombie would stop and cock her head. After pausing a bit, she continued her stroll, shaking her head as she walked.

Claire got it first. “She can't hear us. She's still deaf.”

“Stay down. Maybe she'll give us a chance to escape,” I said. Claire and I could probably handle her, but with other people involved, I'd rather not tangle with a freshly minted Red-Eye until we were going out the door.

Marianne stumbled and fell to the floor. She crawled around in a circle, then stood up and continued to amble around the store. Lifting her head, she took a sniff of the air to find some prey.  Marianne might not be able to hear us, but I'd bet her sense of smell still worked.

After a few more staggering laps, Marianne the Red-Eye walked to the double doors that led to a storeroom. She pushed one aside, and disappeared. Now was our chance.

I waved everyone to the door. “We're going,” I said to Claire and Miss Rose. They nodded, and Miss Rose relayed my plan to the girls. We all stood up.

In single file, our new friends rushed to the door. Claire was already at the exit, waving everybody to pick up the speed. She had unlocked the door and was looking outside. I took the rear of the line, keeping an eye on the storeroom's double door for Marianne the zombie to reappear.

Claire looked right and left at the front door, then pushed it open. Miss Rose and her students began to file outside to Lyle, our bus, and freedom. The last few girls got to the door, and I followed looking behind us as we left. It looked like we were going to pull this off.

A noise came from behind me. It was the sound of a swinging door.

Marianne the zombie emerged from the storeroom, and stood before us. “Go! I'll hold her off,” I said. Jumping down the two steps to the floor, I aimed my gun at undead Marianne.

“You need my help!” Claire said.

I waved her off. “Just go. I'll catch up.” I had a promise to Miss Rose to keep. Marianne had to be put down.

The zombie recognized the fresh meal in front of her and charged. The rest of the students hurried outside, and Claire closed the door behind her. The Red-Eye picked up speed, and I fired twice. One shot hit her in the shoulder, slowing her down. The second bullet tore through her hip, and she fell to the ground. Whimpering, she fast-crawled into the broken fixtures and vanished.

I stepped to the center of the floor, but didn't pursue. I took one step, then another. Looking into the broken shelves, I tried to spot Marianne before she gathered herself and attacked. Thoughts of leaving Marianne behind, and getting out of the drugstore crossed my mind. Promise or no promise.

I got to the last row of shelves. Without warning, Marianne the Red-Eye burst out of the shadows like a rocket.

She reached me in an instant. I got a chance to half turn, but never fired my gun. The zombie grabbed on, and we flew like rag dolls through the air. Before she could sink her teeth into my tasty neck, we shot through a gap in the stools and slammed into the counter beyond. The old counter was cheaply made and water-damaged, so we went right through to the other side. Wood splintered and exploded into a tornado of wood debris as my back hit the counter. Still in a life and death embrace, we hit the floor behind the counter in a pile of broken wood and busted paneling.

The passage through the counter had damaged Zombie Marianne. She crawled away from me, back through the new gaping hole we made. She tried to stand, but something had happened to her knee. The zombie stumbled to the floor and started crawling away.

As I struggled to get to my feet, a sharp pain jolted through my back. I had a damaged back, or maybe a blown rib or two. Trying to get to my feet again, the pain came back. It was worse, and I sank to the floor. For now, I was immobile.

And at the mercy of the Red-Eyed killer with me in the drugstore.

Marianne managed to get to her feet. She turned, and started limping back toward me as I lay on the floor. I struggled one last time to get up, but the pain put me down. The zombie limped closer, trying to pick up speed despite the damage. Her growling and hissing reached a fever pitch as she approached. I was about to become her first meal.

Where's my gun? My gun...
I searched the pile of wood with both hands, trying to find my missing weapon.
It couldn't have gone far.
With considerable pain, I arched my back and searched under my body.

Zombie Marianne made it to the broken gap in the counter, and hissed as her eyes focused on me. She started coming through, dragging her busted knee behind her. She stumbled on the splinters of wood and nails surrounding me, as she began her final, slow attack to get her well-earned meal.

Underneath the small of my back, my hand closed on the familiar grip of my gun. With great effort, I pulled it out and fired, point blank at the approaching Red-Eye. The shot caught her in the chest, and she fell back. Pure adrenaline overrode the great pain in my back, and I sat up. I fired twice more.

The next bullet caught her in the side of the head. Close, but it didn't put her down. A spray of blood and bone came from above her right ear and she tripped almost falling to the floor. The zombie recovered, and continued the advance.

The third bullet put her down.

It tore right through her jaw and out the back of her head. Marianne the zombie dropped to her knees and fell, face first to the floor. A high-pitched whine from her ruined throat filled the room. Her fingers moved for a few seconds, but it quickly ceased. Marianne the Zombie went still, and silence returned to the drugstore.

My gun sagged to the ground. The pain in my back was now full time, and I didn't know if I could stand. I lay back in the remains of the counter, overwhelmed by the scents of rotten wood and the smell of death. The faint taste of blood lingered in my mouth. Home and my Karen seemed so far away. I wondered if I was going to die in the wreckage of the drugstore.

A weak flashlight beam passed over my head. “John? Where are you?” It was a nice, familiar voice. Claire was looking for me.

Taking a breath as deep as possible, I called out into the drugstore for my friend. “Over here.” It wasn't loud enough.

Claire had barely heard me. “John? Was that you?” The flashlight beam crossed over my head again as she turned around in the store.

I took another breath. “Over here. Behind the counter.” It was louder this time, but it caused shooting pains up my spine. Claire appeared in the broken gap of the counter. She came through, and kneeled at my side.

“Oh, jeez,” Claire said. Her hands moved around not touching me, as if she was afraid to hurt me further. “What hurts?”

“My back.” I said, pointing to the dead Red-Eye a few feet away. “Make sure she's dead.”

Claire turned around and poked the zombie with her bat. She lifted the body slightly, and looked at the eyes. “You got it, John. It's dead.”

“Good. She put up one hell of a fight,” I said. “Everybody safe?”

Claire stroked my face. I could feel her cold hands through her thin gloves as she moved them through my beard. “Everybody is safe, and on the bus. It was like a family reunion.” She looked at me with very concerned eyes. “We're just waiting for you.”

“Just give me a minute to catch my breath, and then we'll go,” I said. At this point, however, I didn't know if I could stand or not.

Claire sat back, and put her hand on my chest. “Okay...but just a minute. We got to get home, you know.”

“I know.” Something caught my eye near the gap in the bar that I had smashed through. A panel had come loose and revealed a storage compartment. I took the flashlight from Claire's hand, and pointed the beam at the busted panel. The light caught the edge of a cardboard box. “What is that?”

Claire got up, carefully stepped over my legs, and investigated the box wedged in the small compartment in the counter. She pulled several white cardboard squares out of the box, and read the back. In the beam of the flashlight, I saw her face break into a big smile, and she started tapping the cardboard against her head.

“What is it?” I asked.

Claire returned to my side, and holding up the cardboard square in front of my face so I could read it. “Only you,” she said. “Only you could crash through some furniture and find something we need.” Claire took the flashlight, and shined it on our new discovery.

It was medicine. There was white pills neatly packaged on those cardboard squares.

Someone had decided to store the medicine in the old drugstore counter for safekeeping. Before the town had been swarmed and consumed by the dead, someone had tried to survive here. I found their secret medicine cabinet.

“Aren't I lucky?” I said, laughing a bit. It sent shooting waves of pain through my broken body, and turned into a wracking cough. “Grab the whole box. We're taking it home. Break up a few more panels, see if we can find anything else.” Claire went into action, placing the box of precious medication near me on the floor. It was full of white cards. I read a few, and it was all antibiotics, anti-viral, and other types of important medication. All the common types in pill form. Claire began smashing panels in hope of finding more goodies.

With great effort and a little pain, I pulled myself up into a sitting position. I was feeling better, and it was time to go home.

“W
e'll get you home, John. You can count on it.”

Those words came from Lyle in the driver's seat of our bus. I was in the final row of our shuttle bus, five rows away, at the back. The final row was actually one long continuous seat along the back wall. It was like a big, comfy couch.

I lay with my head in Claire's lap. It was the only way to keep the horrible pain in my body at bay. Claire held onto to me tightly to prevent the bumps in the road from moving me around. She was doing a good job, but every rock, crack in the asphalt, or curb that Lyle rolled over caused shooting bolts of agony in my back and side.

The bus shuddered a bit as Lyle rolled over something in the road. Claire tightened her grip, but it was too late. I had to bite my lip to keep from whimpering. “Sorry about that,” Lyle called back to us.

“It's okay,” said Claire, looking at me. “We're okay, right?” I nodded and tried to look enthusiastic.

The trip home was uneventful so far. It started with a smooth escape from the drugstore with no problems. Removing some of the wooden panels of the counter revealed three other secret compartments, but only one was occupied.  Besides the medicine, Claire found a box of other goods in a plastic bin. It was mostly things like soap, mouthwash, over-the-counter medicines, and, strangely, women's cosmetics. Claire decided to take it anyway. She said there was a thriving makeup market among the ladies of Cannon Fields.

After the search for supplies was complete, Claire helped me to the door. Lyle found some bright road flares in an emergency box on board and used a couple to distract the Red-Eyes. Claire held me up at the gate, Lyle threw a flare into the street, and the way was clear to board the bus.

Now we were on the way home, bouncing and shuddering down an Alabama highway. The sun was going down behind the trees. Lyle turned on the headlights, but kept the cabin dark so we wouldn't be spotted easily by predators - living or dead. A sudden coughing fit seized me. The cough was a recent development. One of my lungs might be punctured.

I finished hacking up a lung, and Claire took my hand. “We'll get you home, Tiger. Doctor Connelly will fix you right up.”

My nickname was back. Claire had pinned it on me in the old days when we first met. “Been a while since you called me that.”

Claire gave me a puzzled look. “Called you what?”

“Tiger.”

“Oh,” Claire said. “Didn't even realize I said it. Guess I'm just tired.”

“Yeah,” I answered back, weakly. “Pretty tired myself.” I took a deep breath, and pain seized me for a second. Claire leaned her head back on the seat, and sighed. “What's wrong?” I asked. The pain was passing.

“I hope it was worth it. Sometimes, I wonder if we had the right idea in the first place: just stay behind the gate at home and lock ourselves inside. The price to pay to save people may be too high,” Claire said.

From a few rows in front of us, one of the girls was looking back at us with a very concerned look on her face. I smiled at her, and  gave her a weak thumbs up. She smiled back, and returned to her conversation with her seatmate. All the students and their teacher were malnourished, dehydrated, and needed a bath. They were on the road for five years, half-scared out of their wits and exhausted from running. But they were alive.