Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (9 page)

A set of car
keys were on the desk next to the phone; a black and red key chain inscribed
with the word D.A.R.E. was like a challenge. I grabbed them, wondering if
they’d led me to a tougher vehicle or useful supplies. The fenced-in lot where
the marked vehicles were housed when not in use was behind the building. I
moved toward the back door quickly, ready to leave the carnage behind me. One
foot outside the door though, I stopped myself.

I’d left Marty
alone for a while. I had to keep in mind that he was just a little boy and I
was his guardian, the only protection he had now. I had to think like a parent.
That didn’t come naturally to me. Despite running a children’s consignment
store, I had never wanted kids. I didn’t think I’d make a very good mother.
Maybe that made me a crap person, but hell, I couldn’t even keep a steady
boyfriend or a goldfish alive. I just wasn’t hardwired like other women, but
like it or not, I was the untested parent to an unwanted son now.

Moving back
towards the building entrance was like navigating a maze… a maze comprised of
small, unmoving bodies and blood. Murray’s face, slack with death, his body
riddled with bite marks, played in my peripheral vision, but I refused to look
him full in the face again. I leaned my upper body out of the propped-open
door. Marty was kneeling on the passenger’s seat, his face nearly pressed
against the door glass. When he saw me, he visibly relaxed. I gave him a thumbs
up and he nodded.

Soon I was again
moving out the rear door and hitting the ‘unlock’ function on the key fob I
held. The headlights of the big DARE Suburban flashed invitingly. The vehicle
looked formidable, safe… maybe a better option that a muscle car- no matter how
much I liked the look of it.

Before rummaging
for supplies, I sat myself in the driver’s seat and stuck the key in the
ignition and crossed the middle and index fingers of my left hand. “Please have
a full tank.” I murmured, almost a prayer on my lips.  Empty.

The damn thing
was empty. “God, my luck sucks ass lately!” I slammed my palms down on the
steering wheel angrily. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t. Life was a callous,
heartless bitch sometimes. I slid off the driver’s seat and didn’t bother to
reclose the door. Let it stay open; let the perfect interior be ruined by rain
and dirt.

Lifting the
tailgate of the vehicle, I set the shotgun and box of shells down and started
rummaging around. The rear of the vehicle was stocked to the hilt. Whatever the
hell was going on, we might actually survive.
Shouldn’t count my chicks
before the eggs hatch
, I chided myself. I wasn’t normally superstitious,
but given the circumstances, I sure as hell didn’t want to jinx myself.

Pulling a
plastic bin towards the edge of the tailgate, I began stuffing gear in like a
mad woman, not pausing to consider what would be most useful. Bulletproof vest,
medical kit, radio, even a case of Hersey bars. Murray probably intended to
hand them out to the kids after the station tour, God Bless him. Such a great
guy.

A great guy that
doesn’t keep his tank filled.
I thought grumpily.

There wasn’t any
additional weapons or ammo, but I was a lot better off than I had been. I
briefly thought about stealing the big SUV, but the station lot’s gate was
electronically secured and I wasn’t about to spend any more time here than
necessary.  I wanted to drive away and try to forget about monsters,
murdered children and Doug Murray.

The last thing I
grabbed from the Suburban was Murray’s half-empty backpack- a military-style
thing with his name embroidered in black and white. I stuffed the chocolate
bars in a front pocket and threaded my arms through the straps. That action
turned my mind towards food. I had so many supplies now, but not the very
basest of necessities- nutrition and fluids. The station had to have a break
room.  Struggling to carry my haul, the shotgun and shells perched atop
the too-stuffed bin, I made my way through the building and outside. Marty was
once again relieved to see me and he quickly unlocked the doors as I
approached.

Opening the
driver’s door, I lifted a small handle attached to the seat base and pulled the
backrest forward to lean against the steering wheel at an angle. The huge rear
seat was soon obscured by my findings. It gave me a sense of confidence and
safety, to have so many supplies. Even the items that might prove useless were
a comfort.

“I’ve got to go
back in one more time, okay?”

Marty looked at
me worriedly. “You’re going to leave me alone again?”

“Just for a
minute. I promise.”

The boy bit his
bottom lip and grimaced. He opened his mouth to speak, but then clamped his
lips together.  His cheeks turned rosy red with an embarrassment I didn’t
understand. “What’s wrong?”

His frown
deepened. “I’ve got to pee really bad.”

I almost
laughed. Not a polite giggle, but a full-out belly laugh, snorting and all. The
kid needed to pee. It was such a… normal need that it seemed ridiculous given
the monsters and dead folks piling up in our small town. “One good thing about
being a boy, Marty. The world’s your urinal. Come on. You can go behind the
bushes right there.” I pointed to the left of the station stairs.

“There… isn’t a
bathroom inside? Do you think the Sheriff would mind?”

Now I grimaced.
“No. I don’t think he’d mind, but… just trust me, staying out here is much
better. Now, hop out and pee so we can get out of here.” He continued to
hesitate so I retrieved the shotgun from the back seat and closed the driver’s
door.  Walking around to his side, I shot him a reassuring smile. I held
out my hand to him after swinging his door open. “There’s nothing to be scared
of, Marty. We’re safe here.”

The boy took my
hand and moved like a turtle out of the car. He stood by me for a moment, his
fingers entwined with mine. I waited, trying to be patient, but once I realized
he wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon, I shooed him toward the bushes. When
he left my side, he picked up the pace and I probably couldn’t have counted off
sixty seconds in my head before Marty was running back from around the tall
bushes, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shorts.

“Lock the doors
again. I’ll be quicker this time.” I didn’t wait for Marty to respond, but I
heard the sound of the door closing as I walked away. Murray’s pack was still
on my back and I hoped soon it would be heavier with the weight of food and
water. I held the shotgun in my left hand, its barrel pointed towards the
ground. It made me feel more secure than the .38, maybe because it reminded me
of my dad. The handgun was still a reassuring bulge at my waistline though.
Bullets, bullets everywhere, but not a thing to shoot. That was a good thing,
of course, yet, I couldn’t help wanting to test my mettle now that I had double
the weaponry.

It only took me
a minute to find the station kitchen. It wasn’t as well-stocked with decent
foods as I’d hoped, but I filled the sturdy pack with everything I could find
in the office fridge and nearby cabinets. My bounty seemed meager- 4 bottled
waters, instant coffee, someone’s bag lunch, and a case of… diet shakes.
Really?
I can’t even escape my diet in the midst of a freaking apocalypse
. This was
not turning out to be my day at all. Grumbling over the odds, I slung the pack-
which was much weightier now- over my right shoulder and headed for the door,
shotgun firmly in hand As I crossed the break room threshold into the station’s
main office area, I heard the creak of a door swinging open and a guttural
utterance that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand erect.

Turning in slow
motion, I knew what I would see. One of
them.
One of the miniature monsters
that liked to snack on people burgers. “Shit!” I yelled as the boy launched his
body towards me. My hand quickly gripped the door handle and I yanked with all
my strength, trying to close the door and protect myself. I wasn’t quite fast
enough.

As the door was
about to click shut, two hands shot through the closing gap and gripped the
edge of the wood. As I pulled, grunting with the strain of long unused muscles
being awakened, the beast child pulled also. Somehow, he was stronger.
He
was half my size, but stronger!
My brain scrambled for a solution… how to
buy myself enough time to get out of the building and to the T-bird. I was
losing the battle. The door was being pulled inward, widening the gap between
myself and my attacker.

I screamed, pushing
with all my might instead of pulling. Element of surprise. That’s all I had in
my favor at this point. My action caused the boy to lose his balance and fall
backwards. I didn’t wait to see if he actually fell. I ran full-out, wobbly
bits jiggling unabashedly as I hurried towards the exit. As I moved through the
station’s front door, I kicked the wedge that held the door propped open. It
was heavy steel and closed with a resounding thud that did nothing to slow the
surge of adrenaline coursing through my body.

Marty’s
expression altered drastically when he saw me running toward the car. I’d told
the boy we were safe. I’d lied. I’d freaking lied. Call me Pinocchio and hang a
dunce sign on my growing nose. I was well past hating this day to all-out
wanting it to die a bloody, exactable death.

“Unlock the
car!” I yelled; my voice cutting through the silence around me with insatiable
force. “Unlock the damn car now!” I’d cursed. I’d cursed at the boy. I
seriously wasn’t meant to be a parent. Rounding the front of the vehicle, my
left hip slammed into the headlight. I grunted and the force of the blow
knocked the shotgun from my hands. It skidded away from me along the hood and
came to rest against the windshield nearest Marty’s door.

I hesitated; the
gun was my lifeline; it increased my… our… chances of survival. I turned my
body and lunged for the gun… just as the bestial boy burst through the station
door.

He took the
stairs two at a time, his face contorted in animalistic hunger. “Shit. Shit.
Shit!” My voice was cracking, going hoarse from fear.
Screw the gun!
In
a pulse-pounding, gut-wrenching matter of seconds, my fingers were on the
driver’s door handle. It was still freaking locked. I yelled in frustration and
slammed my left palm against the door glass, keeping my right hand in the ready
position. Marty yelped and I heard the upwards click of the metal lock. I
wrenched the vehicle door open; the boy was rounding the front of the T-bird
now… so close… so damn close.

I didn’t bother
removing the heavy backpack. I just shoved my body into the car, slamming the
door behind me and hitting the locking button like my life depended on it.
Because…
my freaking life did depend on it.
There was no doubt about that. If I’d
been a fraction slower, I’d be dead- a chunk of flesh ripped from my bones by
sharp teeth. Then I’d be changed… be like Deb, slamming my head into glass,
trying to gain a meal in the form of Marty.

I took a deep
breath, trying uselessly to slow my out-of-control heart rate. The .38 shoved
in my skirt waistline jabbed into my stomach. I pushed my back against the car
seat and roughly yanked the handgun away from my soft skin. Again, I was
acutely aware of how out of shape I was. The run had almost killed me. I forced
my body to stop shaking long enough to turn the key in the ignition… the engine
didn’t greet me with its comforting roar.
Shit. Shit. Shit! Not here. Not
now. No freaking way
. My mind protested the possibility that the T-bird
could be out of commission. Kyle kept it in tip-top shape. It was a mistake.
I’d just drifted into an alternate reality for a moment, a reality where I was
stranded in a gigantic classic car paperweight. It was nearly impossible to
ignore the screaming psycho kid scratching at my window. The sound grated
against my brain and my stomach churned as I took in the sight fully. The kid’s
nails were splintered and his fingers were sloughing off in meaty chunks as he
desperately tried to remove the barrier blocking him from my flesh. Taking a
deep breath, blocking out the noise and death knocking at my chamber door, I
turned the key once more.

The big block
ford roared to life. I wanted to drive, burn out and screech across the
concrete. But my gaze fell upon the shortened-barrel shotgun.
Argh!!!
My
brain screamed! How could I have been such a… a… woman! My life depended on
being able to protect myself and I’d dropped the gun. There it was, sitting on
the hood, taunting me.  Damn. I’m not a soldier, but I’m not a girly-girly
‘only good for a roll in the hay’ chick either. I shouldn’t have been such a
freaking clutz. Jesus.

I went to throw
the T-bird into reverse, but my brain wouldn’t allow me to. I had to get the
gun back. It was my lifeline, my symbolic safety. It was the only weapon I felt
comfortable using. The .38 felt foreign in my hands, unfamiliar. The smooth
wood and dark metal of the shotgun felt like family, like my dad was watching
over me somehow.
I needed that damn gun
. It almost felt as if without
the weapon that I was doomed to die, hopeless, no chance at all against the
current landscape of cannibal hell on earth.

“Marty, listen
to me.” The boy was helpless with fear watching the creature outside my window.
“Marty, look at me!” I knew my voice was loud and scary, but I needed him to
wake the hell up and tough love was all I had left in my emotional arsenal.