“Uh, other side,” I explained. She missed again. I wiped my face again to show her where it was.
“Forget the damn puke!” she yelled. “Shouldn’t we try to help?”
“No,” I mumbled.
“What? Speak up, I can’t hear your altruism,” she retorted acerbically.
“Listen, if we stop we become vulnerable, and we don’t know if the person we would be helping is infected. We can’t take that chance, we have to look out for us,” I argued. I’m not sure if my claim was good enough. Was that how I felt or was I just trying to cover up my cowardice?
Yeah, I was scared out of my mind that first day. Is it that easy for you to pass judgment? We’re mostly in a standoff with the zombies now, but back in the beginning when panic reigned supreme the only thing that mattered to me was me and my family. God, I just hope not in that order.
I probably would have gotten another sarcasm-laden ‘fine’ from my wife if not for the thunder that tore through the car. Travis had decapitated a zombie that was approaching our right side while I had slowed to avoid a nasty five or six car pile-up. I don’t think that he had nearly the feelings of dread I had when I had killed the zombie at our front door. To him this was not so far removed from playing Left 4 Dead on his Xbox 360.
“Got one Dad!” he yelled triumphantly, a gleam in his eye. I muttered my congratulations but all I could think of was some old phrase I had come across in one of my English classes: ‘Take heed your actions lest ye become like the enemy ye seek to destroy.’
I didn’t have much time to reflect on my misgivings as I turned into the Wal-Mart parking lot. It was worse than my worst fears of how this was going to play out. Cars were strewn across the parking lot. It looked like the longest happy hour in history had just finished and the patrons were all trying to get home at the same time. What was worse than the cars were the couple of hundred zombies strolling across the parking lot. I did a quick drive by the front of the store, and I could tell that an almost equal number were inside meandering about. Well, I bet tripe was going to be scarce. This did not bode well for Justin. I was in a quandary; I just didn’t know what to do. I had to look for him, even if he had become one of those things, but I didn’t even know how or where to begin. It’s not like I could ask one of the zombies if they had seen a zombie that matched the description of my son. Luckily, Travis solved my problem with one simple question.
“Dad, why aren’t the zombies attacking us?” Travis asked. I wasn’t traveling much more than 5 miles an hour, fast enough to keep any of them from catching us but not fast enough to stop one from coming towards us. It was then that we took notice of a large congregation of zombies merely standing, all of them facing towards the store with their faces (or what remained of them) all upturned. They almost looked like they were worshipping, but what do zombies worship, is there a God of the Tasty Brain? Is their Eucharist a tiny slice of dried brain matter? I know! I know! It’s sacrilegious but that’s what I was thinking at the time. Even the remnants of the zombies that weren’t already together in this impromptu meeting seemed to be heading in that direction. Some of the zombies that were recent accident victims from the carnage in the parking lot were dragging what remained of their former host body to the flock. Every once in a while I even noticed one or two of the zombies convulsing as if they were receiving HIS or ITS word.
“What in the fu…is going on here?” I asked nobody in particular. I had not so long ago promised my kids that I was going to do all in my power to cut the vulgarity out of my everyday vocabulary. As you can tell, I still have lapses but I think I deserved a pass on this one.
“Hey Dad!” I heard (barely). Somebody had shouted the words, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where the voice was coming from. “Hey Dad!” I heard a little louder as we approached the large throng of zombies. As I made sure to skirt around the unholy gathering, I noticed activity on top of the Wal-Mart.
“Holy shit!” I yelled as I slammed on the brakes.
“What is it?” Tracy asked with alarm in her eyes. Travis was looking around hungrily for something to shoot, thinking that we were about to come under attack.
“Look on the roof!” I said incredulously.
Tracy leaned over my lap. “It’s Justin!” she said with elation . I was also happy, but the gears in my head were still turning; how were we going to get him down from there?
At least we now knew what had the zombies so enthralled. Justin and a couple of his co-workers had escaped to the roof before it was too late. One of them had grabbed a couple of pellet guns and from the looks of all the empty beer cans on the ground somebody had the presence of mind to grab some cases of Keystone Light.
So let’s make sure we’re clear on this: Obviously the people that managed to get to the roof knew their lives were in danger. They had the presence of mind to climb to a safe haven and even to arm themselves as best they could. So far so good, but then one of the group decided that they might need some beverages to stave off thirst, still good. That person, fearing for his life, went to the beer section, which again is admirable, everyone knows beer is the nectar of the gods. But then he grabs Keystone Light? Are you kidding me? I’d rather eat the can than drink those contents.
My curiosity was now satisfied. The convulsions some of the zombies were experiencing were caused by pellet impacts. It wasn’t enough to kill them by a long shot, but I will testify to this day that it definitely had the effect of pissing them off. Zombies by definition are murderous, but I’m telling you they now had a murderous intent to them. Did they want to exact revenge? Were they even still capable of such a sophisticated mind set? Of all the zombie movies I’d seen and all the zombie books I had read, only a small percentage dealt with zombies that had feelings. I did not want the zombies in MY nightmare to have feelings. Feelings ALWAYS complicated things. I’m a guy. Guys don’t want to deal with feelings.
I got as far away from the multitude as I could while still hoping that Justin would be able to hear me. “Go to the other side of the store!” I yelled for all I was worth.
Justin just shrugged his shoulders, clearly not being able to understand me.
“Go to the other side of the store!” I screamed, my throat burning from the strain.
He shrugged again helplessly.
I made over-exaggerated motions for him to move to his right. He answered with an over-exaggerated nod, the light bulb clearly going off over his head. As he began to move off, a fair percentage of the gathered zombies also peeled off, heading in the same direction. Justin noticed this quirk too. He slowly walked back to his co-workers, and the zombies returned to the fold. I watched him hand his pellet gun off to a fat bear of a kid. The pellet gun looked no bigger than a Butterfinger in his hands, and I bet he wished it were the candy bar instead. Then Justin grabbed a beer and walked back towards the center of the roof, and out of the line of sight of his devoted followers.
“Why aren’t they coming after us?” Tracy asked more surprised than anything.
I had been asking myself that same question. Sure, some of the zombies looked our way occasionally, especially the ones that were closest. But they couldn’t have cared less if I got on my knees and poured A-1 on the top of my head, at least I think. I’m not willing to truth check that statement.
I thought carefully before I answered. “I think they’re pissed off.” That was the only thing that seemed to make sense. Before Tracy could ask for clarification, I continued. “I mean, look at them," pointing towards the zombies, "obviously the people on the roof are potential food for them, but hell, we’re a lot closer. I think that pellet gun is irritating them to no ends.”
“Can they be mad? Do they even have emotions?” Tracy asked.
“Umm Hon, you’ve known about the zombies for thirty seconds longer than I have. It’s just a theory. Maybe they just can’t smell us over the exhaust of the car. Let’s just keep the windows rolled up in the meantime.” This time no one argued.
I drove around to the side of the building where I had motioned Justin to meet us. He was peering over the edge when we pulled up.
I rolled down the window. “Justin, is there a way down?” I yelled. Almost instantly, two zombies began to shuffle our way. In life they most likely were twins, albeit not like the kind you see in the Doublemint commercials. Both were more than 200 pounds, wearing midriff shirts that showed off their expanding muffin tops. Whereas the sister on the left was wearing purple spandex, her twin on the right was adorned in the much classier Daisy Duke shorts. In life this would have been a vision hopefully never to behold, but now with their purple mottled flesh and fresh puss oozing out of every orifice I nearly gagged. You have to love Wal-Mart customers. I don’t know if it was the noise or the smell of a meal that had them coming my way. My guess was the promise of food. These two didn’t ever look like they passed up a chance at something to eat.
“Yeah, through the sprinkler room, but that’s on the far side of the store,” Justin answered.
“Travis, keep an eye on the double-fat twins over there,” I said nervously. I tore my glance from the approaching horrors. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. “You won’t be able to get out the front, if you went back downstairs could you go out an emergency exit?” I yelled.
“No, those things are in the stairwell leading up here. We can hear them banging against the door,” was his reply.
“Any ladders up there?” I asked.
“No but there’s a ladder section over by household goods,” he answered helpfully, or so at least he thought.
“Yeah that’s not going to work so much,” I replied, remembering the hundred or so zombies still shopping for blue-light specials. We were at an impasse.
“Dad!” Justin yelled. Travis appended the point by blasting a round through the Mossberg. Muffin top one in the spandex went down in a heap, most of her belly liquefied by the impact of the pellets. Her sister screeched, I’m not even sure that’s the right adjective. It was an inhuman sound. Something only dead, taut, rigor mortis induced vocal chords could produce. Travis almost dropped the shotgun out the window. Tracy and I could only stare in frightened bewilderment. But what came next stunned me even more. Daisy Dukes Girl didn’t help her fallen sister up but she waited until the other one got up of her own accord. The wound was fatal, but fatality only applies to the living. I could see what I had at first thought were maggots roiling around in and about her guts, but at an inch or so long these weren’t any ordinary maggots. They were worms of some sort. And I could tell from looking at the size of Spandex Girl, these weren’t tapeworms.
Those things had to be the cause of whatever was going on here, but I wasn’t a biologist. I stepped out of the Jeep with my M-16 and emptied a magazine into the two women. Most of my shots didn’t even hit the desired target but I only needed one round in each of their heads for the job to be done. At fifteen shots a zombie we wouldn’t make it through the night. I turned the selector lever on the M-16 from ‘automatic’ to ‘single;’ my hands looked like I suffered from a severe case of palsy.
“Dad!” Justin yelled again.
