The Reckoning - 02 (10 page)

“The planet's survival has become so uncertain that any effort, any thought that presupposes an assured future amounts to a mad gamble.”

-
Elias Canetti

              It was nearly two in the afternoon when the station came into view.
There were four vehicles sitting in the driveway.
I remembered them being there when we passed in the Humvees.
At least I wasn’t about to run into another group of possibly hostile survivors.
The last thing I wanted was to get involved in a firefight and attract every zombie in the area down on me.
It was one thing to go in guns a-blazing when you were in an up-armored Humvee.
It was quite another to do it on foot, with nowhere to run to.

             
I approached the store slowly, staying inside the tree line.
I took my time getting there, careful to make as little noise as possible.
When I made it to the edge of the field across the road from the station, I knelt down and waited.
I listened for the telltale sound of the dead, the incessant moaning.
I was relieved that I didn’t hear any.

             
One vehicle was an old Ford pickup with mismatched paint.
The driver’s door stood open and there was blood on the windshield.
The second was a small economy car with a flat tire.
One of the remaining two was a red mini-van.
It looked to be intact.
The last one was an expensive European sedan with a smashed front end and broken out windows.
It looked like zombies had forced their way inside to get whoever was in there.
I didn’t see any bodies, but there was plenty of blood.

             
I glanced up and down the road and still didn’t see any sign of the dead.
Waiting a few heartbeats to gather my nerves, I stood up and headed out of the trees.
Moving in a crouch, I crossed the road as quickly as I could and ducked down behind the pick-up.
The keys were still in the ignition but there was blood on the seat.
Lying on the ground next to the driver’s door was a Taurus 9mm pistol with the slide locked back.
I picked it up and tucked it into my belt.

             
Lying in the seat was a machete in a green sheath with the handle wrapped in black duct tape.
I snagged that and stuck it in the top of my pack.
I glanced down and saw a brown work boot sticking out from underneath the truck.
Kneeling down, I pointed my rifle at the boot just in case it was a
Crawler
.
It wasn’t.
It was a boot with part of a leg still inside of it.             

             
Rising up slowly, I peeked over the truck and into the front of the store.
The windows were dusty, but unbroken.
The sign on the door still read “Open” but the lights were off, probably along with the power.
Switching from my rifle to the shotgun, I made sure that it had a round in the chamber and the safety was off.

             
Satisfied, I crept towards the door.
My boots crunched softly on the gravel and seemed to be like trumpets in my ears.
Sweat was running down my face in rivers.
Once I made it to the door, I peered in through the glass.
I could see isles of merchandise, but no “customers.”
I pulled the door handle slowly, careful not to jangle the bells attached to the top of it.

             
I slipped quietly inside and immediately was hit with the smell of rot.
Not the putrid stench of the dead, but the sickeningly sweet smell of bad milk.
I was all too familiar with the smell of rotten milk. It was a staple of my refrigerator before I married Karen. Usually, the only thing in it was rotten milk and beer. I moved slowly towards the register when I stepped in something sticky.
It was a large pool of semi-congealed blood.
I stepped carefully around the rest of it and walked behind the counter.

             
I glanced around the store and saw more blood near the coolers at the back of the store, but no bodies.
On the floor behind the counter lay a sawed off double barrel shotgun.
I retrieved it and opened the breach.
Both barrels were spent.
I ejected the empty casings and reloaded it from my ammo supply.
Then I sat it on the counter. On a shelf beneath the counter was a pocket sized Missouri road atlas.
I shoved it in my cargo pocket and kept looking around.

             
I couldn’t help but smile at what I saw at the other end of the counter.
This store sold hunting and fishing supplies.
That meant they had ammo.
I wasn’t sure how much would be left, but I planned on cleaning them out.
Once we fueled up the truck, we’d take everything they had left.

             
Snagging a can of the wintergreen chewing tobacco pouches, I broke the seal with my thumbnail and opened it.
The smell of the chew was intoxicating.
I slipped two pouches into my lip and savored the flavor for a few seconds before slipping the can and a few others like it into my pocket.
When the rush hit me, I smiled at the sudden burst of energy.
It was time to clear the building.

             
Taking the flashlight off of my belt, I clicked it on and swept the room.
I still didn’t see anything in the main part of the store.
Clamping the light between my hand and the pump on the shotgun, I headed towards the door to the back rooms and the sign that said “restrooms.”
Careful not to step on anything that would make noise, I slowly made my way to the door.

             
I paused at the bathroom door and pushed on the door with the barrel of the gun.
It opened easily and the flashlight lit up the tiny room.
One toilet, one urinal and one sink were all that was in the room.
I let the door close slowly and moved towards the store room.
There was a small office just past the bathrooms and the door stood open.
Seated at the desk was a woman in her late fifties or early sixties.

             
She was dressed in jeans and a cotton smock with the name of the store on it.
There was a ragged bite mark on her left forearm.
I didn’t have to worry about her standing up, though.
There was a large handgun clasped in her right hand and the back of her skull was missing.
There was gore all over the wall behind her.

             
“I’d have done the same thing,” I whispered.

             
Gently, I pulled the pistol from her dead hand.
It was a Ruger Super Redhawk in .44 Magnum.
I opened the cylinder and checked the load.
She’d eaten her last bullet.
It was empty.

             
“No sense leaving this behind,” I muttered and slid it into my belt.

             
I turned to head into the storeroom and froze in my tracks.
My heart nearly beat out of my chest and I almost yelled out.
Standing not ten feet away from me was a zombie.
It was an elderly man in his sixties or seventies with a bloody button up shirt and jeans.
There was dried blood around the mouth and down the chin.
It must have been attracted by the light.

             
It saw me about the same time I saw it.
It lurched forward and I snapped the shotgun up and fired.
The blast was nearly deafening in the tiny hallway.
It caught the worst of it right in the chest.
The force of the blast threw the zombie back and into the storeroom.
Before it could move I fired again, only this time in the face.
There wasn’t anything left of the head after the impact.

             
I heard more movement from the storeroom and worked the pump on the shotgun.
Shining the light into the darkened back room, I was surprised to find four more zombies inside.
They had been gathered around what was left of a dog.
Before they closed the distance, I started blasting.
Four shots thundered out and four zombies fell to the ground, never to rise again.

             
When my ears stopped ringing, I listened for more movement but didn’t hear any.
I just hoped that the 12 gauge blasts hadn’t been heard outside the store.
I’m sure that they were, but just how far the sound traveled was anyone’s guess.
I whispered a silent prayer that no other zombies were in range of the sound.

             
I swept the backroom and found lots of extra supplies.
There was a large puddle of water where the ice machine had leaked, but other than that everything appeared to be in good condition.
I headed back up front and towards the hunting counter.
I froze in my tracks when I saw two
Shamblers
moving towards the front door.
I knelt down behind the potato chips and heard the jingle of the bell on the front door followed by the shuffling of feet.
They were inside the store.

             
Staying low, I moved down the aisle towards the front of the store.
I could hear the shuffling stop as they tried to locate me.
I quietly sat the shotgun on a display of soda and pulled out my hammer.
I slid the thong over my right hand and hefted the weight.
Then I drew the machete and held it in my left.

             
In one motion I stood and turned to face the zombies.
They were less than twenty feet away and I closed the distance quickly, before they reacted.
Fortunately, they were slow to react.
One raised its hands towards me while the other opened its mouth to shriek.
I struck it first.

             
In one swift motion, I swung the machete in a sweeping arc.
It connected with the neck of the
Shrieker
and nearly took its head off.
It didn’t take it all the way off, but it did sever the spinal cord and ruined the vocal cords in the process.
It fell in a heap, taking my machete with it.
The body no longer worked, but the head was still moving its mouth and eyes.
At least it couldn’t shriek, anymore.

             
The second one grabbed my arm and tried to pull me towards its blackened mouth.
Before it could pull me in, I swung the hammer.
It impacted with the back of the skull and I heard a satisfying crunch.
It fell on top of the other one, burying my machete in the process.
I shoved it over and retrieved the weapon, and then struck the moving head with the hammer.

             
Looking up, I could see more than a dozen zombies moving towards the front of the store from three different directions.
I locked the door and moved back behind the counter.
The windows were thick plate glass, but the door didn’t look as solid.
I knew that neither the plate glass nor the doors would stand up to that many zombies, though.

             
Recovering my shotgun, I quickly reloaded it to full capacity.
Then I grabbed a box of .44 Magnum ammo from the shelf and reloaded the Super Redhawk.
Laying the Redhawk on the counter, I pulled out the Taurus 9mm I’d recovered and dropped the magazine.
I worked the slide a few times and found it to be in good working order.
Then I grabbed a box of 9mm hollow points and reloaded the magazine.

             
I jacked a round into the chamber, then dropped the magazine and replaced the round.
Now every gun that I had was loaded.
I lay all of the guns on the counter and turned to look at the front door.
The dusty glass made it difficult for the zombies to see me in the darkened store.
So far, all they were doing was milling about and occasionally trying the door.
They’d been attracted by the noise of the gunshots and weren’t worked into a frenzy over food.
That would change if they saw me.

             
I sat down on the floor and did my best to remain quiet.
I was hoping that since they didn’t see any movement, they’d wander off before too long.
I’d just have to wait them out.
Staying low, I moved over to the cooler and snagged some energy drinks.
Then I snagged a couple bags of Doritos and moved back behind the counter.

             
I cracked open a drink and opened a bag of chips.
I ate in silence for several minutes, listening to the sound of the undead as they patted the glass and pushed on the door.
Then I heard a sound I was dreading.
I heard the snuffling and sniffing sound of a
Tracker
.
It would know I was inside.