Sven the Zombie Slayer (60 page)

Ivan hissed, and Jane found that it amplified her dread, the feeling of being trapped with the undead closing in around them.

“Okay,” Jane said, controlling herself, “Sven you have to get up.”

Sven’s eyes began to roll back into his head.

“Sven! Do you hear me? Lorie, come on help me get him up, we have to go.”

“Go where?!” Lorie screamed.

“To the car, we have to get out of here, drive somewhere.”

Jane and Lorie continued to pull on Sven, and finally, the man regained enough of his physical composure to stand up. Jane and Lorie helped support Sven’s weight, and the three of them made their way to the Wegmans entrance. They dodged two zombies on the way, apparent evidence of the slow leak through the access point that Lorie had seen, or of another yet unknown leak in the building.

Jane and Lorie helped Sven lean against a checkout counter, then they pushed aside the shopping carts that were blocking the shuttered entrance.

Jane approached the shutter and peered through it, out at the parking lot.

Her world reeled, and she recoiled from the sight, staggering backward.

Lorie caught her by the arm, helping balance the world a little. On seeing her ashen face, Jane was sure that the girl had already seen it.

“What?” asked Sven, slurring the word. “What’s out there?”

Jane turned to him, gripping the .460 XVR for support. It had served her well in the stockroom, covering Sven, but it couldn’t take care of what was now awaiting them outside. “They’re all over the car. There’s no way we can get through that.”

Sven tottered to his feet. “There’s a way. We’re not gonna end this here.” He was still slurring his words, and had to lean on a rack of paperback romance novels for support. “You stay here with Lorie and get ready. Here are the keys.” Sven handed his car keys to Jane, who took them, not knowing how to react. The man seemed to be choking, making gurgling sounds in his throat and swaying as he spoke. “I’ll pull them off the car.”

Jane’s mind resisted this at once. “What? No! You can’t do that, you can’t leave us like this. We can’t face them alone.” Lorie put her hand on Jane’s forearm, but Jane pulled it away harshly. “You’re in no condition to be doing that, if you go out there, if you…” She couldn’t overcome the sob that strangled its way from her throat.

“No,” Sven said. “This’ll work, I’m sure. I’ll pick the shotgun back up—I still have a lot of cartridges—” Sven patted the bulging pockets of his mallard pants, “—I’ll go out through the loading docks, get their attention, start shooting ‘em up real good. They’ll get off the car, and then I’ll run around. I’m sure this’ll work.”

Jane shook her head. “No! Sven, no! There’s gotta be another way, we just need a little time to think it through, there’s gotta be another way to do it.”

“This is the way. Trust me.”

Jane took off her surgical mask and thrust it at Sven. “Take this.”

He must have seen the resolve in her eyes, because he took the mask and put it on without a word.

He looked at her for a moment longer, then surprised her with a hug. When it ended and he broke the embrace, Jane felt an unbearable anguish, as if her very being were ripped apart.

He turned to Lorie and tousled her hair, still saying nothing.

And then he quickly limped away, and was gone.

Ivan padded off after him, faithful to his loving master until the bitter end.

Jane knew she would never see Sven again, she had never been so certain of anything in her life. She wanted to run after him, to go there and face death with him, but she didn’t. She just stood there next to Lorie, knowing that he had been there a moment before, but never would be again.

117

Sven circled back to his sleeping bag, where he’d forgotten the shotgun in his haste to follow Ivan. He picked up the Benelli SuperNova in black synthetic, knowing that it was for the last time. This was it.

Jolts of pain pulsed through his body. Every step felt like burning, every breath, every movement. The only thing that helped was touching the handles of the machetes, and there wasn’t even time for that now.

Loading the Benelli as he went, Sven limped through the stockroom and to the breached loading dock entrance.

He stopped for a moment, and stared at it in sheer disbelief. He felt betrayed, confused, completely lost. But there was no time to figure that out right now.

He had to make it possible for Jane and Lorie to get away. He had to make it happen. There was a way. There was a way. He kept telling himself there was, but—

“Oh, to hell with it all,” Sven said, and he stepped out through the breach into the balmy, stinking air. His head went fuzzy for a moment, and he forgot what he was doing. Then it all came back to him like a sickening headache.

No time to freeze up now, he told himself.

He limped around the perimeter of the Wegmans, avoiding the few zombie stragglers that reached for him. They weren’t worth wasting energy or ammunition on. He turned the corner, making his way up the side toward the front of the store.

Almost there.

Sven hobbled up to the corner of the building and peered around, recoiling at the sight, and feeling the fear reach into him. He put a hand on one of the machete handles and tried to make the darkness come back, the invincible feeling from before, but it wouldn’t.

There was no time for standing around.

He took a deep breath, not at all making peace with the thought that it would likely be his last, and limped out from behind the corner.

He faced the sea of undead head on.

“Hey zombies! You hungry?!”

They began to turn toward him—their answer in the affirmative.

He opened fire.

Even as the zombies nearest him fell, the zombies behind them began to pile toward him, reaching for him, wanting what he had—his flesh.

Sven emptied the shotgun into them, barely making a dent in the horde.

He backed up as he reloaded, staying out of reach, mindful not to step on Ivan.

Ivan! Sven was so grateful for Ivan being there now, with him at the end.

He backed around the corner of the Wegmans, then began backing down the side, watching the corner of the building and waiting.

He didn’t have to wait long.

It was working!

The zombies were turning the corner after him, reaching for him with eager, gnarled hands, moaning in anticipation.

“Yeah, that’s right! Here I am, but you gotta catch me first!”

The smell—their smell—intensified as they drew nearer, and even though Sven was backing away, he caught himself reeling, his hands on the shotgun growing numb almost to the point of uselessness.

He had to fire while he still could.

Continuing to back down the side of the Wegmans, Sven fired again, dropping the front lines of the advancing undead.

As before, the volley made no visible dent. More zombies came, staggering on and over their fallen comrades, insensitive to the loss.

Ivan hissed and Sven spun around just in time to dodge a zombie’s snapping jaws, much too close to his face. He jerked the Benelli awkwardly at the zombie’s head, cracking the skull sideways and dropping the zombie to the pavement.

The creeping numbness was making Sven careless. Of course there were a few zombies behind him—the remnants of the loading dock incursion, he had passed them just moments before.

Then he was backing up again, trying to load the Benelli.

The first cartridge slipped through his fingers.

The second almost made it but slipped too.

Then the third slipped.

Sven couldn’t feel his fingers or hands. He looked down at them, trying to will them into coordinated action, but the Benelli only slipped from his deaden grip.

His knees began to lose feeling, to buckle under his weight, but he managed to lean backward, staggering away from the zombies that were now fatally close.

He fell, not feeling the impact.

The zombies were over him now, touching him, too close.

A snide remark, Sven thought, I’m not going to hell without a snide remark.

But his lips wouldn’t move, wouldn’t deliver.

His head turned sideways, not of his own volition but under the influence of gravity.

There was Ivan, still poking, prodding, pawing at him.

It’s okay Ivan, Sven thought, it’s o—

118

Jane clutched her .460 XVR hopelessly, wondering how many hours she had left to live.

Hours is probably presumptuous, she thought, I should be thinking on the order of minutes.

Peering out into the parking lot, Jane imagined that she would see a zombie version of Milt any minute. Horrible as it might be, she was glad Milt was gone, and she even hoped he had been torn apart pretty good, though she hadn’t seen what had happened to him after Sven flung him from the roof—hadn’t tried to see, hadn’t wanted to see. Milt had been a horrible man, and he deserved to die, even a gruesome death at the hands of the undead.

Feeling both glad that Milt was gone and apprehensive at his possible reappearance in the ranks of the undead, Jane knew that if Milt did return, she would eagerly put one of her massive bullets through his zombie belly.

“I believe in him,” Lorie said, startling Jane out of her fantasy. The thought of killing Milt a second time really was appealing. “He’ll come back.”

Jane looked at the girl, wishing that she could soak up some of her naïveté and believe it too. Jane didn’t understand Lorie at all. She didn’t understand how the girl could be so sensitive and optimistic on the one hand, and so inhumanly merciless in the way she fought the zombies, as if she were deriving pleasure from it, on the other. Jane recalled Lorie’s gruesome contribution to the battle in the stockroom and shuddered.

The girl had leapt about the carnage, using her exceptional speed and dexterity to stay out of reach as she stabbed with her knife, plunging it into zombie heads and twisting it enthusiastically, as if the crunch and sprinkle of bone fragments were a reward.

So much of the outbreak now seemed unreal that Jane was having some trouble distinguishing between what she saw and what she imagined…but Lorie’s lips had been curled upward as she dispatched the zombies. Jane’s mind hung on to that image with immovable certainty.

Lorie seemed to function only in extremes, and now Jane was face to face with Lorie the optimist.

Jane had no clue how to respond, so she didn’t, and turned back to look through the shutter.

She heard shots and a yell that she couldn’t make out. The roiling of the undead in the parking lot was unaffected, Sven’s efforts were comple—

She blinked. The zombies were receding from the entrance and from the car, they were flowing away, shambling to the side.