The Survivor Chronicles (Book 2): The Divide (24 page)

He was experiencing it now but he was wide awake, or at least he was pretty sure he was. He thought that at least one part of his brain had called it quits and secretly gone to sleep on the rest of his brain. It would explain why he felt like he was in a fog.

"We haven't seen anyone for miles," Carl said as he dropped two bags off the back of the truck and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "It's why we stopped now."

"But they're so smart," Rochelle said again.

"We're smarter kid. Don't forget they're still rotting, or whatever it is that they're doing. No normal person would behave the way they are. They'll only get dumber as time goes on."

Al knew it was a line of bull but he prayed Carl was right. He'd much prefer to deal with dumb flesh eating humans than smart ones. Carl hopped out of the truck and closed the doors before grabbing the bags and carrying them toward one of the trashcans by the pumps. "Losing two bags of supplies isn't too bad after that storm," he said over his shoulder.

Al glanced back at the sky but though it was far darker than it should have been, the storm hadn't rolled in this far and it seemed they were going to avoid the torrential downpours this time. His attention returned to the store but he didn't see Riley or John anywhere. He should have paid more attention; he had no idea if they had gone inside or wandered to the back of the building.

Carl peered into the backseat of the car, shook his head and turned away. Al stepped away from Rochelle as he moved closer to the car. "How is he, really?" he asked in a low voice.

Carl shrugged as he lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. There was a black ring around his forehead from where the stained brim rested against his skin. "I don't know, he's barely moved. He's still alive, but I don't know what's going on with him. Riley made him take some more antibiotics an hour ago, but he hasn't spoken."

Al nodded and glanced back at the gas station. "Did you see where they went? If they got inside?"

"No," Carl said as he lit another cigarette and studied the road. "But I hope they found a bathroom."

Lee rolled over in the backseat, the t-shirt fell back to reveal the rash that covered his face and neck. Al's breath froze in his chest as Lee's eyes briefly fluttered open. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, lifeless eyes, red eyes, rotting eyes, but as Lee's dark blue eyes met his he saw a moment of recognition in them before they fluttered shut once more. Al found himself able to breathe again as Lee pulled the shirt over his head and turned away.

"This isn't good," he whispered.

Carl heaved a heavy sigh. "I know."

"Should we go find them?" Rochelle asked from her spot by the passenger side of the truck.

"No, we can't leave the vehicles. They'll be back soon," Carl assured her.

Al saw no movement inside the store as he studied the darkened interior. "I'm just going to see if the door is open."

Carl looked like he was going to protest but he closed his mouth and nodded briskly. Though he hid it well, Al saw the fright in Carl's bloodshot gray eyes. "I'll keep watch for you."

It wasn't far to the store, but Al thought it might have been the longest fifteen feet he'd ever walked as he hurried toward the door.
Dead man walking
, he hated himself the minute the thought popped into his head but once it was there he couldn't shake it.

Grabbing hold of the door, he was amazed to find it unlocked as he pulled it open. He caught a brief glimpse of Riley and John with their hands in the air seconds before a gunshot exploded. Glass shattered around him as he was knocked back.

CHAPTER 19

John

Somewhere in Mass.

"Holy shit!" John flung his hands over his head as he threw himself to the ground.

Another shot rebounded through the store as he managed to squirm his way in between two racks of chips. A bag exploded next to his head and for a second he didn't think he would need a bathroom after all as orange chips rained down around him and he was covered with bits of cheese. He glanced back at the gun he'd placed on the ground when the guy had taken them by surprise. He didn't think he had any chance of retrieving it without taking a bullet and he much preferred his flesh without a hole in it.

He heard a startled squeak from Riley but he couldn't see her as she had darted in the opposite direction when the man holding the revolver started firing. The door banged shut as whoever had had the misfortune of opening the door was either shot away from it or was able to flee from the gunfire. He didn't have time to wonder who it was, didn't even have time to fear that one of his friends had just been murdered by a trigger happy moron that either worked here, owned it, or had taken up residence in the store.

John squiggled even further into the racks as he tried to make his way toward the large metal stand the coffee was set up on. If he could find something solid to hide behind perhaps he could at least put some barrier between him and the next bullet. He wished they'd never stepped foot in this place, but then he hadn't expected to find an idiot with a gun either. An idiot that was apparently going to do everything he could to make sure they didn't escape this store.

Bits of faded tile flooring flew up and splattered his face as a bullet struck the ground inches before him. Yeah, he definitely wasn't going to need that bathroom. He scurried backward toward the chips again as he wiped the tile from his face, along with droplets of blood from the nicks the flooring had caused.

"Wait!" Riley cried. "Stop! We're not here to harm you! We're not sick!"

John didn't think that mattered as another bullet rebounded through the store. Judging by Riley's startled cry it had been directed her way. John used the brief distraction to launch himself to his feet. He ran, half bent over, and his hands over his head -like that would help- before throwing himself behind the metal cabinet holding the coffee pots.

His head tilted back as he leaned it against the cabinet and struggled to catch his breath. His breathing sounded exceptionally loud to him but he couldn't calm himself down, and he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. He poked his head back out but he still couldn't see Riley through the toppled racks of food.

He could see the idiot firing at them though as the gun swung in his direction. He had a glimpse of rolling brown eyes before he scurried behind the cabinet again. The bullet slammed into the metal with a loud clang before it pierced out the other side.

John's eyes crossed. There was no breath in him as he stared at the bullet hole only a couple of inches to the left of him. He knew he should get away from the cabinet, it didn't offer him the protection he'd been seeking, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He didn't think his legs would support him and he had no idea where to go.

The silence that followed the last shot alerted him to the ringing in his ears and the turbulent beat of his heart against his ribs. He was trying not to breathe; he was certain the guy would hear it and shoot him if he did.

Why had he stopped firing?

Riley. Had he succeeded in killing Riley?

John was tempted to look out to see if she was ok but he knew he would only be met with a bullet between the eyes. He really wished he hadn't put his gun down when the man had ordered him to, but at the time he'd thought that cooperating would be the best option. Given the chance he would
not
make that mistake again. But then, the guy had been allowing them to back toward the door before it had opened and the lunatic had decided to go all Yosemite Sam on them.

John turned his head slightly. From this angle he could see the shattered glass from the front door lying scattered about the floor and the asphalt parking lot beyond. He thought he saw blood but he couldn't be sure, and he wasn't moving any closer to find out.
Please let them be ok
, he silently prayed.

A bag of chips skittered across the floor as the man appeared to be moving through the store. John glanced to his left and pushed himself away from the cabinet. He bit into his bottom lip as he cautiously put one hand in front of the other and began to crawl down the length of the cabinet.

It ran along the wall toward the coolers and a back room that he assumed was for storage and where the manager's office was located. He wondered if there was a backdoor but he had to get there first to find out.

Chips crunched as the man stepped into the area that John had just fled. It was
him
the man was coming for. His heart hammered at the implications of that, not only was he being hunted but what did that mean for Riley? Did the man already know that she was injured, dead?

John's head was spinning; he was halfway down the back of the counter when his stupid sneaker squeaked on the tile. He winced and launched himself forward as the coffeepots above him exploded. Glass rained down on him as he threw his hands over his head and plastered himself to the floor. Shards sliced into his skin, blood trickled down his arm and dripped onto the floor.

He wasn't so fond of coffee right now as it poured over him and soaked his clothes to his skin, but at least it was cold. Deciding that trying to stay quiet wasn't doing him much good, he got to his feet and walked quickly forward with his hands on the ground as he remained bent over. He had to get out of here before that guy rounded the corner of the cabinets.

He wasn't going to survive earthquakes, a tsunami, and some virus that turned people psycho all to have his head blown off by some terrified moron with a trigger happy finger. Another coffeepot shattered but it was behind him and he was almost to the end of the cabinet now. He stopped at the end and studied the shadowed interior of the backroom. There had to be a door back there somewhere. There had to be some way out of here, some way to get help for Riley. If she was still alive.

He didn't hesitate, didn't even stop to think about the fact that he would be briefly exposed before he dove forward. He rolled through the doorway and behind the first row of coolers. Scrambling forward, he scurried toward his right and the relative safety of the aisle behind the coolers. He glanced back toward the main room but he couldn't see the man, or Riley, through the rows of drinks and melting frozen food. The sticky sweet scent of ice cream and already rotting food caused his nose to wrinkle.

He had no idea here he was going. All he knew was that he had to put as much distance between himself and that guy as possible. Unfortunately, 'as much distance as possible', ended in a wall as the aisle didn't curve around at the end of the coolers. The door to whatever was behind the wall next to him must be on the other side.

He rapidly glanced around as his heart beat a rapid staccato against his ribs. There was nowhere else for him to go. He'd gone the wrong way upon entering the back room. One wrong turn may have just cost him his life. John's head pounded as he glanced back toward the doorway, but it remained empty. He had no idea where the man had gone but he seemed to have relented in his pursuit of him, for now.

John crouched by the last row of coolers and lowered his head to peer through the shelves at the store. He spotted Riley burrowed in behind an ATM machine with her shoulders hunched forward. He had no idea how she had managed to wedge herself into the tiny spot between the machine and the wall, but she was enfolded in there with both hands over her mouth as she stared above her.

Her gaze finally came down; she searched the store before her eyes landed on him. Her shoulders slumped; she pulled one hand away to wave her fingers briefly at him. He lifted his hand in return as she jumped and slammed her hand back over her mouth. She returned to searching the area above her. John didn't know what had drawn her attention away but something had frightened her again.

John searched the store for the man but he didn't see him until the man stepped out of an aisle. His legs appeared on the other side of the cooler ten feet further down on John's right. The gun was at his side as he hunted Riley amongst the rows of food, cleaners, and every day household items that were fairly useless now.

John turned back to Riley and waved to try and grab her attention again. She remained staring at something above her head; finally he caught her eye as she lowered her head and frowned at him. He pointed toward the man and held up both hands with his fingers extended to show her the number ten. She frowned at him as he took two of his fingers and made the walking motion with them before pointing at her again.

Her hands slipped from her mouth as she braced them on the ground. John's heart hammered as the legs crept closer to him and Riley began to back her way out of her cramped hiding place. He saw only her hand as she kept it against the back of the machine and maneuvered around to the side.

John didn't realize he'd stopped breathing until his lungs began to burn. The breath eased into him as he grabbed a can of soda from the shelf. He crawled back toward the door he had just rolled through. Glancing around the small backroom he searched for something better than a can of soda to use against the guy. He spotted a mop and broom in the corner, but they wouldn't do him much good against a bullet. His hand fell into a puddle of warm water. John searched for the source, but the culprit appeared to be the melting ice from the ice machine.

Leaning forward he grabbed a glass bottle of iced tea from the shelf and looked back to see where the man was now. He'd moved closer to Riley, but he was still in the aisle directly outside of the cooler doors.

John glanced into the shadows. He had some time, but not much. Placing the drinks down, he remained crouched over as he hurried past the ice machine and deeper into the shadows. He stopped about halfway down the aisle as he strained to see. He should be able to see the faint outline of light from a backdoor, but as he turned his head back and forth the darkness remained absolute.

No wonder the shooter had decided to go for Riley and leave him be for now. There was no way out of the backroom, no escape from the relentless pursuit of their hunter. He was trapped like a hamster in a cage.