Human Extinction Level Loss (Book 1): Nicole's Odyssey (8 page)

When the world turned and the Dead started eating the living, Pete Maxwell and Alfonse Pinelli went to their dealerships.  Both men valued their business and considered it an extension of themselves.  While certainly disturbed about the global turn of events, Alfonse Pinelli’s chief concern was how it all was going to affect his business.  He comforted himself by showing off his merchandise to women of wealth and questionable virtue.  He plied them with expensive wine and, with his formidable salesmanship, found it easy to turn the end of the world into a tool of seduction.  On one particular evening, Alfonse Pinelli brought back to his showroom one Bela Marenka recently of Czechoslovakia and money.  Her first name meant “white” and her last name “bitter” and so it proved for Alfonse Pinelli.  Bela was into raves and uppers and could afford both in excess.  Hours prior to joining Pinelli in his showroom for some end of the world amorous relations on the hood of a certain 2013 Ferrari F12 Berlinetta, Ms. Marenka had attended a rave where someone she had never met before but certainly had sex with, bit her on the inside of her right thigh.  By the time Pinelli was well on his way to expanding his territory into Bela Marenka, she turned and ripped out his throat.  She continued her feast, eating away most of the flesh in his lower back and right thigh.  At three hundred and fifty pounds, all fat and hardly any muscle, Alfonse Pinelli only succeeded in expanding the territory in Bela Marenka’s stomach cavity.  Upon reanimating, Alfonse Pinelli shuffled across the street to Pete Maxwell’s dealership.  Pete never owned a gun.  He never saw the need.  Sleeping in the back until “all this craziness blew over”, Pete was awakened by a very hungry Alfonse Pinelli forcing his way into his office.  At first trying to reason with Pinelli, then reluctantly giving him some of the vicious two-fisted Southern hospitality that so many had urged him to deliver before, Pete “Petey” Maxwell went down.

Times being what they are, no one was considering the great question much anymore.  In his withdraw and shock, Sam Jennings wasn’t.  Nicole wasn’t either as she sped away from the burning Home Improvement Supercenter.  Had she been though, she might have thanked whoever orchestrated the series of events that made Pete Maxwell open a dealership where he did and sell the kind of cars he had.  She might have offered up a gesture of gratitude to that power for allowing her to prefer the GTO over the Ferrari.  As she flew down the highway, she encountered a group of five Shufflers in the center of the road, stragglers saved from destruction by their tardiness.  Not seeing them in time Nicole plowed the GTO into and through the first four of them.  Limbs and things that connected limbs flew in all directions and landed in the road behind her.  Continuing to swerve, the GTO hit the fifth, and exploded it in a shower of browns, reds, and greens before Nicole could regain control.  Had she been in the Ferrari with its light body construction, she almost certainly would have totaled the car with the impact, dying either in the crash outright or in the feast afterward.  The GTO, with its heavy steel body construction, sped, virtually unscathed toward Fair Valley.  Nicole Bennett was not pondering the great question as she checked her rear view mirror.  Had she realized that the fifth Shuffler to fall victim to Pete Maxwell’s Heavy Metal that day was none other than a wandering Alfonse Pinelli, she just might have.

Twelve

As Nicole entered the town of Fair Valley, she was reminded that abandonment without destruction was the norm.  It made sense that businesses, small ones like Friendly’s and large ones like the Home Improvement Supercenter were left in decent condition.  Both those establishments were outside of city limits.  When the Zombie Apocalypse was in full swing and the government had taken to quarantining whole cities, people who lived in outlying areas were relocated to shelters within the city.  Those in the city were ordered to stay in their homes.  The city was sealed off by roadblocks.  Armed patrols day and night guaranteed compliance.  It amounted to little more than rats in a cage, only these rats were doing more than simply becoming aggressive and fighting each other.  They were dying, reanimating, and eating each other.  As the city was ravaged by the plague and more of its citizenry became flesh eaters, the survivors became desperate.  The battle for resources became almost as deadly as the battle against the Dead.  Once a city was quarantined, the government was supposed to ensure re-supply of the essentials, but as quarantined cities began to outnumber those that weren’t, supply lines stretched thin, then snapped.

The GTO crept down the main street as Nicole gazed out her window at a city in ruins.  Not a house, shop, or skyscraper seemed untouched.  Cars were not spared either as everyone in sight bore evidence of being broken, crashed, or both.  Paper of every variety blew up and down the street, the flotsam and jetsam of a city busted at the seams.  Her tires crunched over glass and things that were not glass.  A Zombie would reanimate as long as it retained its brain regardless of how much flesh had been blasted away by the living, or eaten away by the Unliving.  As Nicole looked around, she saw bodies littered everywhere, those who did not have the second chance that re-animation offered.  Each one had massive cranial damage, those that had heads anyway.  Nicole could not tell which ones were blasted away and which ones were eaten.  She did not lend herself to further thought or investigation on the matter.  They were not getting up and that was good enough for her.  She was of a mind to get something that would enable her to do some blasting of her own.  That meant guns.

Nicole figured she had dodged two bullets herself, one at Friendly’s and the other just down the road at the Supercenter.  She almost lost it both times but had kept it together and been resourceful.  She was proud of that but not foolish enough to think she could continue as she had.  Driving down the highway, going on shopping sprees and retiring in motels had almost gotten her lifetime membership in Club Dead.  Cats were supposed to have nine lives, Nicole figured she had nowhere near that.  Apart from taking in the scenery in Fair Valley, Nicole was looking for a gun store.

She thought she wasn’t going to find one until she pulled into the parking lot of the Fair Valley mall.  Listed on the sign at the entrance were several of the principle stores located within the mall.  Nicole’s eyes scanned down until her eyes came to rest on one that she thought could meet her needs,

OUTDOOR LIFE: THE FINEST IN SPORTING AND HUNTING ACCESSORIES. 

“Bingo,” she said.  She smiled and looked over at Sam, expecting him to share her enthusiasm. 

Her smile faded as she was reminded that though present in the front seat next to her, Sam was somewhere else entirely.  After watching his store virtually disintegrate before his eyes, he had slumped down in the seat and stared out the passenger window.  He had not said a word since.  He only rode on in silence, tightly clutching the ax handle to his chest.  Nicole pulled the car up to the mall entrance.  The door was twisted and broken out of its tracks.  The large wall of glass that formed the front of the mall was shattered.  Glass was everywhere.  The entrance looked like the gaping maw of some humongous beast that would remain still and with its mouth open, wait for prey to stumble unwittingly into its jaws. 

The mall’s maw,
Nicole thought then wondered if she wasn’t close to joining Sam in the mental breakdown lane.  She did not have time to drive around the whole complex investigating every nook and cranny, so instead she laid on the GTO’s horn, letting loose with a long blast of the discordant sound.  She figured the sound would be enough to catch the interest of any that wanted to get to know her.  She let off the horn and waited. 

Nothing. 

She looked over at Sam who stared out his window.  “I need to get some things, Sam.  You might want to start making your list too,”  Nicole said. 

Sam did not respond or even look at her, his only response was to tighten his grip on the ax handle clutched to his chest. 

Nicole sighed.  “You just gonna wait in the car then?” she asked.

Silence. 

Reaching the end of her outreach therapy, she turned off the ignition.  She opened the door and got out.  As she was about to close the door and go inside, she saw a lone Shuffler emerge from the darkness of the mall.  In life it looked to be a pimply faced teenager.  It was dressed in a blue polo shirt and black pants, and embroidered ball-cap, the official uniform of the BIGGER THAN A BREADBOX BAKERY.  Nicole looked hurriedly around, but did not see any others.  She figured she had two choices, she could get in the car and drive away, or… Nicole went with plan B.  Getting back in, she cranked the GTO and revved the big engine. 

“Hold on, Sam,” she said, then mashed the gas. 

When the RPMs pegged out, she dropped it in
Drive.
  The car surged forward in a plume of smoking rubber and plowed into the only food court employee left standing in the Fair Valley Mall.  The GTO skidded to a stop a hundred feet inside the mall, in a wide area by a scented candle store.  Nicole looked over at the store and wondered if all the scented candles in the world would be enough to block out the stench of the Dead. 
Useless thoughts, she
told herself, then looked over at Sam who seemed unaffected by her vehicular escapades.  Nicole considered trying to rouse him again with some banter, then thought the better of it.  She climbed out of the car and saw food court zombie crushed under her car.  The body ended at its neck, the head, if there was one left, was completely covered by her front driver side tire.  On the floor in front of the GTO was the ball cap the zombie was still wearing when she saw it.  Nicole walked over and picked it up.  BIGGER THAN A BREADBOX BAKERY was stitched across the front of it.  She looked over at the zombie lying smashed under her car. 

“Making flatbread?” Nicole asked.  She tossed the hat away. 

“Geez, Nicole, knock it off already,” she told herself.  Giving one more look to Sam and seeing that he was still present but unaccounted for, she moved off in search of the sporting goods store.

Nicole did not know what to do about Sam.  There was a time when she would take in any stray that crossed her path.  It was the reason she wanted to become a veterinarian.  Seeing animals alone and on the street and knowing they were scared, hungry and probably suffering from some ailment made her heart ache.  Though her heart held a special place for animals, her friends would berate her whenever she would fish money out of her pocket and hand it over to some bum or beggar.  The warning was always the same.
They’re just going to use the money on drugs or booze, Nicole. 
She would tell her friends that she knew that, but would hand over the money anyway.  That was before.  As she picked her way over the debris of a battle lost to the Dead, her only thought was how she was going to get rid of Sam.  She needed to get herself together,
re-supply and fortify,
she thought to herself.  Even as these words crossed her mind, she knew they were not hers.  Whether or not she ever heard her father say them, it sounded like one of the many slogans and bumper sticker phrases that he would use to sum up what needed to be done and in a way that could be shouted at recruits. 
Days of strays have gone away
, Nicole thought.  This bumper sticker was all hers and though some part of her continued to lament the thought, it did so from somewhere deep down inside, behind a locked door of resolve.

Nicole kept a look out for the Dead.  Bakery boy under her car seemed like a loner, but she was not taking any chances.  Not taking chances was why she was walking through the mall of destruction in the first place.  Always a movie buff, she thought of the movie TREMORS. 
Running away ain’t a plan.  Running away is what you do when a plan fails. 
Twice she had found herself trapped and surrounded.  While she did not plan on going toe to toe with the zombies she might come across, Nicole was damned sure she was going to give herself more than just the option of running away the next time she encountered them.  For that, she needed guns and she knew just what kind.

Common knowledge dictated that the shotgun was the preferred weapon of choice when dealing with the Dead.  Two things ruled that choice out in Nicole’s mind: noise and ammunition.  While having a lethal killing force without having to aim, the shotgun was heavy and made a lot of noise.  Noise attracted the Dead.  As she negotiated through the mall, images of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice and his ax versus broom fiasco danced literally through her mind.  Blasting one Zombie and attracting two more was just counterproductive.  Then there was the ammo situation.  Without knowing when she would need to shoot and when she could re-supply, quantity was a problem, not to mention the space and aforementioned weight issue.  As Nicole stood outside the sporting goods store, she had a good idea of what she was looking for. When she was ten years old, her father had given her a .22 pistol for her birthday.  He had explained that the .22 was a good round.  It would be fun for her to shoot and she could get small game with it.  At ten years old, Nicole Bennett wanted the new Barbie Video game.  Five years later, on their wedding anniversary, Col. Steve Bennett wanted a survivalist vacation adventure to commemorate the occasion.  His wife, tired of such antics, gave him a divorce instead. 

Entering the Sporting Goods store, Nicole saw that the destruction in the store was tenfold what it was in the mall.  She was not surprised that the store should look this way.  She knew that people would have raided places like this all over town, even before grabbing their milk and eggs.  Nicole went inside and began searching for her weapons of choice.  She passed a section of the store reserved for Shotguns.  The racks were empty; the lock keeping them secure lay broken on the floor next to a set of bolt cutters.  Shelves below, that at one time contained shells of varying sorts, were swept clean.  Nicole picked up the bolt cutters and kept walking.  Everybody had wanted the shotguns and everybody who got one was dead.  Scanning the store, Nicole saw what she wanted.  In the back, neatly stacked in a row were seven Ruger SR-22 semi-automatic rifles.  On shelves below, hundreds of cases of high velocity rounds sat pristine in their boxes.  Taking the bolt cutters, she made quick work of the lock and tossed it away.  In their ignorance and haste, people ignored the smaller caliber.  The .22 might not smash through Zombie skull like the shotgun, but Nicole knew that the high velocity rounds would still find their way in and once they did, they would rattle around inside, chewing up brain matter in the process.  The Zombie would go down just the same.  Even if she had to shoot twice, she could carry five or six .22 rounds for every one shotgun shell.  They were quieter and she could carry a pistol chambered for the same round and not have to have two kinds of ammo.  Nicole was a flurry of activity.  She grabbed a rifle and slung it across her back then grabbed two more, another for herself and one for Sam.  He would need something to defend himself after she left him.  Realizing she could not carry all that she came for, Nicole set the guns down and found an overturned shopping cart nearby.  She returned to the rifles and put the two in.  She was about to continue her shopping spree when she looked at the other rifles sitting there.