Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (28 page)

 I
reentered the room. Ranger did not follow, instead standing guard at the
singular entrance.

Moving from
shelf to shelf, I took only what I recognized- painkillers, antibiotics,
uppers, downers, speed, epi-pens… and Lorazepam! The sight of that generic
bottle, white with a blue and yellow label, was the most wonderful thing I’d
seen in years. Tonight, I was going to sleep like a babe, assuming I could find
someplace secure to rest. Nightmares would be the least of my worries if a mini
monster found me lost in slumber land.

My pack was
sagging now, weighted down by canned sardines, drugs, and a tube of sunscreen
we’d happened upon at the store exit next to an umbrella display. I was glad
for the sun protectant, Ranger needed it, and I would likely never use half the
medicines I’d taken, but they were currency. Paper money and coins would mean
nothing now, less than nothing. Bartering and foraging would be the only way to
get anything now. The uppers and downers would go first. I had no doubt.
Junkies will be junkies, even at the end of the world.

As I left the
building, my eyes scanned the parking lot, reassessing the cars there.
Something was niggling at the back of my brain, telling me I needed to pay
attention, I needed to ‘see’. I filed the intuitive urging away for later and
headed toward the hardware store. It was closed, the sign indicating that they
opened at 10 AM, a full hour later than the other shops. That probably saved
the owner’s life. It also meant that there was no threat behind the entrance.

The door was
heavy and secured by two interior deadbolts. The extra measures on the door
were silly really, considering the large glass display window- which only took
a millisecond to smash into shards with the butt of the rifle.

I’d always loved
the smell of hardware stores- wood shavings that smelled like fresh pine, paint
fumes wafting from the mixing station, WD-40 liberally sprayed on tool joints.
My grandfather had owned a small mom and pop store in Iowa. I’d always thought
I’d retire there someday, buy back his shop and set my hands to a work that
wasn’t paid in blood and death.

That retirement
plan seemed damn unlikely to happen now. Taking the suppressor off the pistol,
I holstered the gun and shoved the mechanism into my pack.

Ranger and I
walked through the store, taking our time and feeling strangely at ease. A half
hour later, we’d exited. We had gotten more than lucky. The untouched store was
a treasure trove. No one had been there since the beginning, not even the
owner. The proof had been obvious in the gun case and its stack of ammo. I
didn’t need a new weapon, the two I had now were as good as it got, but the
three boxes of .45 ammo and the two boxes of ’06 were like a big diamond to a
longtime girlfriend… absolutely ‘yes’ inducing.

My pack was now
past capacity and my left pants’ pocket bulged with a canister of chewing tobacco-
Copenhagen long cut, my grandmother’s brand. Yeah, that was right, my
grandmother was a rebel- helping my grandfather with the hardware store and
filling a glass coke bottle a day with coal-black spit.

I debated
searching the abandoned cars for a moment, but it was time to make our way out
of the town; we’d been exposed for long enough.

Still, so many
cars… there might be something useful.

I was still
mulling the thought around, when I saw movement. I reacted fast, squatting down
and going still as a painting. Ranger mimicked my movements. We’d been together
so long that often my commands were unnecessary. He could feel the emotional
climate, read my body language. He was part of me. I looked down at him, not a
hair out of place, so what had I seen? Or was I just fried? Too much sun, not
enough water and rest?

I unslung the
rifle and brought the weapon up so I could use the scope. The movement was in
the back of an old Toyota wagon, bit of a POS. The scope lens grabbed the late
afternoon light and brought the picture into crystal clarity. It was a kid. A
girl. Not more than ten, maybe eleven. Slowly, I flipped the gun safety off
with my thumb and slowed my heart rate. One round through the back glass and
the issue was resolved. One more kid to add to my growing body count.
They’re
not kids.
I brutally reminded myself.

I had her in my
sights.

All I needed to
do was pull the trigger.

So what was I
waiting for?

Something.
My mind was
trying to tell me something, but I was too tired to hear it. It was something
logical, something which didn’t add up.
Was it the child? What was it?
I
knew I couldn’t hold my position for long. My legs would go to sleep and the
rifle would get heavy, throwing off my aim and losing any advantage I had.
There were only a few minutes to make up my mind.
What the hell is keeping
me from shooting
? Damn, I was tired.
Why isn’t Ranger reacting to the
threat? He sees the girl as well as I do.

Then I knew. It
was her location. She was in the car and by herself. No blood, no other body I
could see unless it was hidden against the floor boards. Nothing. Just a small
girl hiding in the back of a car. She was not flailing around acting like a
caged animal, a bestial infected looking for a kill.

I focused harder
on the car, taking in every detail of the wagon. I was looking for anything
which would help me understand this bizarre situation better. And there it was-
the windows were partially down. Why would a zombie roll down the windows?

I stood up,
slinging the rifle against my back once again, not bothering to un-holster the
.45 for protection, and I moved toward the car.  Halfway there, the girl
must have seen me, because she dove out of sight between the seats. I knew that
was the clincher, one of the infected- child or adult- wouldn’t hide; it would
hit the back glass trying to get at me. I rapped my knuckles against the
driver’s side window.

“Hey, Kid,” I
said, trying to affect a calming voice, “How you doing in there?”

“Get away!” Her
voice, although scared, was forceful. She had pluck. “I’m not allowed to talk
to strangers.”

“I’m not a
stranger.” I hesitated, trying to come up with an appropriate story for a ten
year-old. “I’m a police officer.” Best I could do on short notice, lie that it
was.

“Show me your
badge then.” It was a challenge.

I chuckled.
“You’re smart, Kid. I’ll give you that. I don’t look like much of a cop, do I?”

“You don’t look
much like a human, let alone a cop.”

I was beginning
to think this girl was older than she looked.

“Okay, fine. I’m
not a cop. I was just trying not to scare you. I was in the military though.”

“How do I know
you’re telling the truth now?” The girl shot back defiantly. “You just lied
about being a cop!”

 “For God’s
sake, Kid. I’m trying to help you. If you’d rather be on your own, starve to
death in a station wagon, be my guest.” I turned around and acted like I was
leaving. It was a bluff. I’d never actually leave a kid on her own, but she
took the bait.

“Hey! Don’t
leave!” Now she did sound scared.

I smiled, but
erased the grin before I turned around. “Here,” I dug into the right cargo
pocket of my pants and yanked out a wallet. It only had three things in it- my
military ID, a photo of my ex-wife and a condom so old I was surprised it
hadn’t crumbled to dust yet. “Take a look.”

“Looks real, but
your name…”

“It is real,
Kid. No need to fuss over the name; that was my father’s idea of a joke. You
can call me JW. I was honorably discharged with disabilities. Government’s real
nice, let’s the wounded keep their cards as a keepsake.”

“I’m not opening
the door.”

“So we’re back
to you rotting in the car and me going on my merry way? Sounds good.” I
whistled. “Come on, Ranger. Time to hit the road.” Frustration was raging
inside of me. I was standing out in the open negotiating with a kid and getting
nowhere real fast. I had the (barely controllable) desire to rip the car door
off of its hinges and yank the girl out by her frizzy hair. But I controlled my
anger and urges and turned away from the car again. This time, she hesitated a
few moments longer before desperately calling me back to her.

“Okay! Okay!
I’ll open the door!”

I heard a click
behind me and a whine as the beat-up Toyota’s door started to swing open. As I
began to turn back toward the girl, my eyes caught movement. “Close the door!”
I yelled, my voice authoritative and brusque. “Close the damn door!”

“But I just
opened it…”

“Close the damn
door, Kid! That’s a fucking order!” I didn’t even think about the cursing, or
the fact that this girl was a civilian; I just barked a command and expected
her to follow. She must have heard the urgency in my voice though, because I
heard the door slam closed.

Six were coming
towards my position. They were running fast, on all fours like some beast-human
fighting style from a video game. Jesus, they were fast. My brain calculated
the distance- eighteen, maybe twenty seconds, and then I was a walking, talking
MRE. Ranger’s body was rigid, his lower half closer to the ground and preparing
to pounce. There were just too many of them to take on. The .45 was out in a
flash as I raced around the vehicle.

I was at the
driver’s side door of the small car quickly. She’d locked the doors. When the
butt of my rifle broke the window glass, the girl’s scream filled the interior
of the car- adding to the din of monster kids snarling and spitting their way
to us. Ranger jumped in first, not waiting for my command as I jerked the lock
upwards and the door open. I tore the pack and rifle off my back and shoved
them over the driver’s side headrest and into the back seat. It settled against
the girl- she was frozen, not screaming now, just looking terrified.

My ass was in
the seat soon after, the time speeding by as the distance between the car and
the threat closed rapidly. Transferring the .45 to my weaker hand, my right
found its way to the ignition… where I’d hoped the keys were. They weren’t.
Shit!

“Where are the
keys?” I screamed at the girl as she cowered in the back and I pulled the door
shut. My eyes glared at her in the rearview mirror. She didn’t answer. “Where
are the fucking keys!”

“No keys!” She
squeaked. “Screwdriver!”

Thankfully, the
adrenaline was like a language barrier bridge and intuition made me look on the
passenger’s front seat. There it was- a flat head poking out from beneath
Ranger’s body. I shoved it into the damaged ignition and rotated the handle
towards the hood of the car. The action triggered a memory and I involuntarily
flinched and ducked.
I don’t have time for this shit right now!

Seven seconds
now… six seconds…

The car hadn’t
started. In my flash of memory, I hadn’t realized that turning the screwdriver
hadn’t been followed by the rumble of an engine. Four seconds… three seconds. I
took a deep breath, centering my body, and tried to start the car again. This
time, it choked to life, a dying sputtering engine that would likely get us a
mile and then fail.
As long as it gets us the fuck away from here.

The first snarling, vicious
little head came into view as I slammed the car into drive. The gun, still held
in my weak hand as my right manned the steering wheel, jumped violently. Round
after round roared through the barrel. The sound was deafening inside the
semi-enclosed car. It drowned out the nonstop screams of my backseat passenger
.
I shouldn’t have removed the suppressor, damn rookie move.

I was driving in
a figure eight, allowing the creatures to approach. They came at my open window
one by one; they might be fast, but they were still kids… they didn’t think
about strategy. I kept firing until the last zombie child was dead. He’d come
close enough to stick his face inside. Jesus, they were fast.

I let the
vehicle roll to a stop and lowered the pistol, its barrel smoking now. The last
target had splattered blood and brains into the car, because he’d been so
close. I’d turned my head in time, thank God, so the wetness had hit my left
cheek and slid downward to my shirt collar. In the back seat, I heard the
retching of the girl as she reacted to the carnage. Ranger had tucked himself
away against the floorboards, trying to keep his footing while I’d driven
wildly in the parking lot. He grumbled at me, working his way back onto the
front seat. I patted his head and he huffed, but I knew I was forgiven.

“We’ll live to
fight another day, Boy. All we can ask for.” I swapped magazines and hollered
over my shoulder. “Hey, you back there, you okay?”

“I threw up on
your bag.”

I grimaced.
“That happens.”

“You broke the
window of my dad’s car.”

“I’ll fix it for
him.”

“He’s dead.”

I didn’t know
quite how to respond to that. I’d dealt with death every day overseas, but
consoling a kid? That was different. “You got a name?”

“Bonnie.” Her
voice was quiet, a bit sad now.