Decay: A Zombie Story (10 page)

One knocked over a trash can as it lunged towards us. Luckily the trash can caused it to trip and gave us an opportunity to move away from them. We backed away from them, keeping the shopping carts in front of us, hoping we might be able to push them away if needed.

The other undead individual stumbled around the trash can and its counterpart and came towards us slowly. I engaged in what I am now referring to as
typical protocol
and brought my shovel to the disease carrier’s head. At the same time, the one who had fallen began to get up. While it was on all fours, Mike charged directly at it with his cart. It didn’t kill it, but it pushed the infected back and tangled its arm in the undercarriage of the shopping cart. It was really stuck in there as Mike attempted to back away from it; its body tumbled along with the cart, flailing painfully on the ground and knocking trash all over the place.

“Shit,” Mike said as he shook his cart from side to side, trying to shake the grimacing ghoul loose. The sickly thing gnashed its teeth at us and growled as it kept trying to steady itself on the ground.

I picked up the trashcan and slammed the bottom down onto the head of the infected. It also didn’t kill it, but it slowed it down considerably. Mike then tugged the cart quickly and the arm came loose.

The creep then rolled to the side on the ground and mumbled some gargling noises as it tried to find its undead equilibrium. Mike took the shovel from me and took it upon himself to engage in
typical protocol
.

After the commotion, we could see a couple of moving figures several blocks away. We weren’t a hundred percent sure if they knew we were there, but we decided to not wait around to find out. We quickly continued on our path to regular, unleaded treasure.

JOEY

I
t was dark inside and I hadn’t seen anyone since my arrival, nor had I seen any of the sick ones walking around in at least a few days. Perhaps things were calming down or maybe they were finally succumbing to the disease. Who knows?

I was surrounded by empty water and soda bottles, as well as empty bags of nut mixes, chips and pretzel bags. Things had grown repetitive and I had lost the will to constantly be looking out the windows for people. Truthfully, I began to lose the will to live. I was pretty sure my family, friends, and girlfriend were all dead and I knew no help was coming. This was the stage I never thought would come: acceptance.

Upon arriving, I hadn’t planned on staying. After all, who would think about living in a gas station? But, it just happened - plenty of snacks and a shotgun to boot. I located a box of shotgun shells and taught myself how to load the gun. I shot it once about a week ago, just to make sure I did it right. I took one of their heads clean off.

Usually they stumble past the station, sometimes stepping on the bell-cords hard enough to set the bell off. When this happens, they typically stumble around for a while, looking for someone or something—too stupid or primitive enough to realize that they caused the sound. Half the time, I end up having to deal with them because they either somehow detect me or some instinct lands them at the door and they pound away for ages.

One night, it happened right as it got dark. I knew it couldn’t see me so I just left it. It sat there slapping the door with its bloody mitts relentlessly until morning when I finally dealt with it—this was my shotgun test.

Typically, they just wander by without paying any mind to the station or the fact that I’m inside. The first day here, I counted forty-three from the sunrise until I finally fell asleep behind the counter. I arrived here after running for miles the night that everything happened, and I’ve been here ever since. It’s almost time to go though—one way or the other.

Suddenly, I heard some kind of noise, a noise I certainly had not heard since I’d been here. I couldn’t tell what it was so I had to look out the window. To my surprise it was two guys pushing a couple shopping carts towards the pumps. They looked fine—definitely not sick. One had a gun and the other had a blood stained shovel. There was no telling if these guys were friendly or what. They pulled up to the pumps and each took gas canisters out of the carts. I crouched down as low as I could and silently watched them… They had no idea I was there.

I continued watching them as they pumped gas and surveyed the area. The door was locked and they had no reason not to smash it open and look for supplies. I grew nervous at the idea of dealing with anyone, so nervous that I set aside the thought that they might be able to get me out of here. I had really been here too long.

Soon enough, one of them finished filling his canisters and began walking towards the door. I crawled into a space below the counter and clutched the shotgun as tight as I could. I heard him walk to the door and try to open it. “It’s locked!” he shouted to his friend.

I grew extremely anxious at the idea of these two looters coming in. I double checked the shotgun to make sure it was loaded and actually began to pray. I didn’t want to shoot anyone—I also didn’t want anyone to shoot me. It’s funny; I was ready for everything to be over, but with this staring me in the face, I just wanted everything to be okay. I guess if it ends, I want it to be on my own terms.

Suddenly, I heard a smash from the outside. My world seemed to shake as I did my best to sit still. Then, I heard another noise, followed by a shatter. They broke the door and in turn broke my situation. Even if they didn’t find me, I’d be forced to leave as the store would no longer be secure.

I started feeling a little less anxious. They didn’t sound malicious, but I couldn’t pop out at them at this point. As far as I knew, one was still holding a gun. I didn’t want to test any theories so I decided to sit tight and wait until they left.

One sounded like he grabbed some energy bars and the other made a comment about all the unscratched scratch tickets above the register, how there could be a million dollars sitting there. I remembered thinking the same thing, but I guess it didn’t matter now. The question was would it ever matter again?

Soon enough, they left the store and went back to their shopping carts now full of gas. I waited until I heard the sound of the carts rolling until I looked back out. I watched them leave the station together.

I waited for a moment as I stared at the shattered door. I couldn’t stay here. I let them have some distance and decided to follow them and see where they were headed.

MIKE

A
fter a pretty successful trip to the gas station, Peter and I headed back to the hardware store. Peter radioed over to Jen and told her our status, reporting that we got twenty-seven gallons of gasoline. The bill was a total of $109.33. That almost made me glad that we were in a situation where the economy wasn’t relevant.

We both remembered the crowds of undead we saw a few blocks away as we headed back down the hill cautiously. We went as slow as possible while the fully loaded shopping carts pulled us down the slant.

While we moved quickly down the hill, we both noticed one infected person stumbling in front of a store a few buildings down from the vacuum place. Since it was only one, we decided to keep going and just get back to the hardware store and gas up Tara’s car.

As we continued down the street, we noticed a lot of papers and trash being blown around by the wind; this was from the infected that knocked over the trashcan earlier in the day. Other than the one we passed earlier, we didn’t see much of anything. So, we kept going as fast as possible until we heard a gunshot from somewhere behind us.

We both dropped to ours knees in fear that someone might have been shooting at us. I began wondering if we looted the wrong gas station. I thought that maybe the owner was held up in the store and we just pissed him off.

We both crouched behind our shopping carts and looked down the road. We couldn’t see anyone anywhere. After a moment, we decided to keep going even faster than before.

I explained my theory of the pissed off gas station owner to Peter and he seemed nervous about the idea. We both agreed that if this was the case, we would try to reason with him and work it out. I began to worry that we might lose the gas after all that trouble. Then, I started thinking about how I broke the door. If my theory was correct the guy must have been really pissed off.

After booking it nonstop to Fix-It and even ignoring a call from Jen, we finally arrived and Jen saw us immediately. She ran to the door and unlocked it right away. Neither of us liked the idea of so much gas being inside the building, so we parked the shopping carts on the side of the building.

“How’d everything go?” Jen asked as she let us in.

“It went okay,” Peter said as we entered the store.

I shut the door and locked it behind us as Jen inquired about Peter’s
tone
.

Peter and I sat for a while by the window, waiting for someone to come by. As it started to get dark, we decided to go gas up the car. We both agreed that if someone did come for the gas, at least we would have some in the car.

We told Jen who decided to wait with Sam by the window while we were out there. She insisted we take the shotgun in case anyone did show up. For the first time, we were looking out for a person—not the undead, which was still a concern in itself.

So, we brought one of the shopping carts over to the car and began filling up the tank one canister at a time. While Peter did that, I checked the glove compartment to see if the car had a manual. It did, so I looked up how big the tank was—eleven gallons. This way, we didn’t have to accidentally go over and waste any gas spilling out on the ground.

Eventually, we got the car just about filled up and started it to make sure the battery hadn’t died. Everything was ready to go, so we once again hid the rest of the gasoline around the side of the building and headed back inside.

There wasn’t any sign of movement anywhere outside. It had become dark and I began wondering if all the undead in the area would’ve been drawn to the gun shot we heard. Perhaps whoever it was…was already dead.

JEN

T
he sun had begun to rise and Peter had recently fallen asleep by the front window. We took turns watching it last night and he was out like a light a couple of hours before dawn.

Mike, Tara and Sam were all asleep in the back. I think Mike and Peter were very tired after yesterday’s trip. The walk wasn’t too long, but I couldn’t imagine how mentally exhausting it must have been to be on edge every second with no real shelter or anything. They said they came across a few undead out there, but nothing too crazy. It must have been so strange—especially for Peter because this was where he grew up—to see the streets in the state they’re in.

Suddenly, I looked across the parking lot and saw a man holding a shotgun, walking towards the car. He was around our age and looked pretty beaten up and worn down. Immediately, I shook Peter and said, “Wake up!” He woke, startled and confused. I then pointed out the window. “I think the gas station owner is here,” I said.

Peter and I watched for a moment as the man walked around the car and began looking around the store. We sat motionless and were pretty sure he couldn’t see us.

Peter slowly grabbed the gun. “I’m going to see what he wants,” he said.

I tried to tell him not to but he stood up and went to the door.

He unlocked the door. The man immediately looked directly at Peter and raised his gun. Peter stepped outside and quickly pointed the gun at this man. “Take it easy,” Peter said sternly yet nervously.