Sven the Zombie Slayer (40 page)

“Isn’t lightning only supposed to hit tall things?” Lorie asked. “That’s what they tell us in school. That hit right in the road over there.”

“You can’t believe everything they tell you in school,” Sven said. “My mom always used to tell me that too, about lightning, probably because she was told that in school, or by her parents. But yeah, it’s not true. Lightning can do random things I think. And there’s not really anything tall in the road here, it’s wide open.”

Sven backed up to give the car the minimum amount of clearance it needed to make it around the mailbox. Any more would have meant risking backing into something—the visibility in the rear was non-existent. “Okay, in this rain it might be more dangerous to go than to stay, so maybe let’s wait a few minutes and see if it gets any better. I still want to get as far out of town as possible to get away from the residential areas. There’s gonna be less of
them
the farther out we go. Here they’ll find us—they seem to have a way of sniffing us out—and might get us just by outnumbering us.”

“They’re the ones that smell,” Lorie said.

“Maybe we smell a certain way to them,” Evan said.

“They smell
awful,
” Lorie said.

“That makes sense,” Jane said, “what you said about going somewhere with less people, somewhere farther out. Who knows how long the outbreak will last? Do you have a particular place in mind or are we just gonna drive and drive?”

“I know a place.” Sven was growing more nervous. Was the rain never going to let up? It was a miracle they hadn’t gotten into an accident already. “The Wegmans way down 29. We’ll have food and supplies there, and if it’s safe we can lock the place down and stay there. If not, then at least we can get supplies and keep going from there. We can go farther out somewhere to some farmhouse and take it over if we have to.”

“I hope we don’t have to stay locked up too long,” Jane said. “Remember your mom said only
Virginia
is affected, then they’ll be able to come in here and take care of it right? I mean the government, they’ve gotta be doing something about this.”

“The radio’s still no good,” Sven said. “I tried it when you went back inside the store. And we don’t know that’s still the case. For all we know the whole country is like this…for all we know the whole…” he trailed off, not wanting to air that particular thought. If the whole world was affected, then maybe running was pointless.

“Wegmans is a great idea!” Lorie suddenly blurted. “I’ve been there. It’s huge, and they have all kinds of stuff to eat. We can probably stay there for weeks, maybe months…as long as it’s not…” the excitement was fading out of her voice, “as long as it’s not full of zombies.”

“I think it’ll be alright. We’re already doing much better, in terms of getting somewhere less populated. I can’t tell if the zombies are wandering around us in this rain, but there are a lot fewer cars on the road.”

“I think the rain is getting lighter,” Lorie said, “right Evan? What do you think?”

If Evan responded, Sven didn’t hear it.

Sven thought the rain might be getting lighter, but he couldn’t tell. A cold sweat was seeping from his palms, coating the steering wheel and making him even more nervous.

Then his protein alarm went off again, and he shut it off with an annoyed slap.

“You don’t want a protein bar?” Jane asked, sounding concerned.

He shook his head. His throat felt like it was locking up, and he wasn’t breathing as deeply as he ought to have been—he couldn’t. It felt like he had over-trained and under-slept. Sven’s body wasn’t happy.

“Evan?” Lorie’s questioning voice came from the backseat. “Evan? Evan?”

Evan didn’t respond.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sven saw Jane turn around.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asked.

Sven didn’t hear Evan respond. Jane and Lorie were whispering something to each other, then Ivan let out a loud, angry hiss.

“I know,” Sven said, “it’s some creepy rain out there, but we’ll be okay. You can have all the cat food there is at Wegmans. You can pick out whatever it is you like best and eat just that. How’s that sound? I bet they even have some delicious raw fish for you to tear into.” Sven was surprised to find he was repulsed by the mental image of fish, and of food in general. His appetite was unusually absent, and he felt none of his usual enthusiasm about eating. None at all.

“Sven,” Jane said, “any chance you can drive any faster? Evan’s passed out again, and I’m sure the car ride and noise of the rain isn’t helping. We need to give him liquids and soup and all that, and let him rest.”

“I can try,” Sven said. “We’re most of the way now, but we need to get there in one piece. We’ll get there, hole up, and hang out until this whole thing blows over. Evan will get better, and everything will be fine.” Sven wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

Ivan hissed again, looking as agitated as he had so far that day.

“Jane,” Sven said, “can you try to calm him down? Maybe give him another treat or something?”

“Yeah, I’ll try, he’s been acting really weird.” Jane gave Ivan a snack, which seemed to appease him. “Sven…about holing up at Wegmans, isn’t that what people usually try to do in the movies?”

“Yeah,” Sven said, but that made him think. It never worked out in the movies. Holing up with supplies and trying to wait out the zombie contagion usually ended in disaster. Wait, was it usually or was it always? Sven tried to think of a movie where it worked, but he couldn’t. Then again, trying to fight the zombies usually ended in disaster too, unless you happened to have super zombie-fighting powers like the
Resident Evil
woman. “We’ll see what the situation is, rest, stock up on supplies, and then take it from there.” He wasn’t sure where they would take it from there, but he was sure they needed rest, and they needed food and water.

“If the movies are any indication,” Sven added, “we need to be on the lookout for people taking advantage of the crisis. We need to be on the lookout for them as much as for the zombies…if not more so.”

80

Cooled by the rainwater, Milt was feeling much better. Actually he was feeling quite good—as good as he felt after a moderate
World of Warcraft
pillaging victory. The pulsing in his head had calmed, replaced by the knowledge that the day’s strange events heralded his impending rise to power, and perhaps even to fame, as the simpleton squire had suggested.

Leaning into the squire’s car, Milt felt around his jaw line for a lump. He found one, and squeezed it greedily, until the pimple popped.

There was a painful prick, and Milt knew that he had pushed some of the infection deeper. That was good, because that meant there would be more to pop later, and it was more likely to be yellow and bloody and maybe even a little greenish. Those were the best, the most interesting of bodily expulsions.

He brought his thumb and forefinger up to his nose and sniffed at it. The smell was nothing special, and, bemused, he brought his fingers up for a closer inspection. The product of the pimple was pasty, but there was no hard, little kernel in it as Milt had hoped.

Next time, Milt thought. There was always a next time, and he relished the anticipation of it. He loved the sense of accomplishment that came with the pop. It was glorious. Milt wiped the pus on his jeans and smiled.

“So, any new ideas?” Brian asked. “About what’s going on? Like maybe it’s just a virus, or maybe some kind of radiation. I guess it must be some kind of infection, what with the biting and everything. Then again maybe it’s pollution. People really are screwing up the planet pretty good these days, and I think what goes around comes around, you know?”

Milt felt his smile fade as he turned to Brian. Brian was growing increasingly pathetic. He kept asking about what was happening and why it was happening and what they should do about it and so on. He was a whiner, a childish whiner. He didn’t understand things the way Milt did. But what could Milt do about it? It was so hard to find any kind of help that good help was most assuredly out of the question.

It was obvious to Milt that why and how the zombies had come didn’t matter. It didn’t make one modicum of difference. What mattered was that the world had changed, and the balance of power was shifting…shifting to people like Milt, people that had the guts, and the intelligence, to take control.

Brian might be mostly worthless, Milt thought, but I can lord over him for a while until he outlives his usefulness.

As simple as Brian might be, he might have a role to play in Milt’s ascension. It wasn’t Brian’s fault that he was dumb, of course, and Milt did appreciate that the guy had bandaged his head, albeit a little too tightly.

Milt sighed. “No, no new clues.”

“I sure would like to know what’s going on,” Brian said.

“I am sure we will find out presently,” Milt said, responding to the drug-dealer turned squire. Brian had tried to play off the drug-dealing by saying he was in sports nutrition or something equally laughable. Not only was Milt combating the zombie infestation, but he was cleaning up the community by rehabilitating its criminals. He felt pride in having such a positive effect on the people around him.

Now they were waiting for someone else to come. Brian was convinced that there would be more survivors, and that they would come here. As much as Milt didn’t want to admit it, he agreed with Brian. This was the place to go, it wasn’t densely populated, and there were supplies. There was just the matter of clearing out the diseased monsters that were there.

“You gonna keep on using that thing?” Brian asked, pointing to the sword. “Don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous, you know, with how you’re not feeling well and everything? You might cut yourself again. Maybe a blunt object would be better, or a crowbar or something. I’ve got a crowbar, do you want it?”

Milt tightened his grip on the hilt of his Conan the Barbarian replica sword, and looked at Brian. The squire looked so stupid with his muscles and lean body. What was the point of all that? Milt knew that sports rotted the brain. He knew that even before he met Brian, and Brian was yet another confirmation of that fact.

“Yes I will keep using my Sword of Crom, thank you very much, and I will have you know that I did not cut myself. I do not question you about the silly body sculpting routines in which you obviously engage, or about your perfectly ridiculous use of that baseball bat as a zombie-dispatching device. Therefore, please refrain from questioning my own zombie slaying and life choices. Oh, and I should add that I reject your offer of your crowbar, which is no doubt rusty and tetanus-ridden.”

“I was just trying to—”

“Enough! Let us sit here in peaceful silence so that I may calculate our next move. That way we will be ready at a moment’s notice. Why don’t you listen to the pelting that the rain is giving the pavement and ponder the ecosystem, or something equally inane.”

A few minutes passed, and Milt began to feel more at ease. Brian was, it seemed, actually capable of sitting still without making a sound.

But then, to Milt’s great chagrin, the silence didn’t last long.

“Hey!” Brian suddenly yelled. “Look over there!” He pointed into the center of the parking lot, the area where Milt had encountered the horde of shopper zombies.

“Yes, very good. That is the parking lot, and we shall cross it and enter the Wegmans when the rain has ceased. Now let us please resume the nice tranquil silence that we were enjoying before you just now decided to speak. I suggest that you pretend you are a monk of an order that requires taking an oath of silence as a condition of membersh— ”

“No! Look! They’re moving!” Brian jumped to his feet, and started hopping up and down, pointing to the center of the parking lot. “The zombie parts from before, the dead zombies, I mean the zombies without heads or whatever, they’re moving! Look! Look!”