The Undead Situation (22 page)

My name is Cyrus V. Sinclair. The V stands for vainglory.

Even though it pained me to do so, I turned and looked at Blaze. Her face softened, lacking the steel aura that typically chilled it.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, even as I tried to cut her off. “There was no way to stop her from shooting him. There was no way you could’ve known she was a lunatic. Bordeaux understood that.”

When she finished, I tried to choke back an unfamiliar sensation, but it came in waves. I was sobbing. Aggressively, Blaze grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me into an unyielding embrace.

“He knew you aren’t the sociopath you paint yourself to be. If you were, you wouldn’t be crying right now.” She squeezed me tighter when I tried to refute the tears. “You can be a cocksucker any day of the week, but someone who meant a lot to you just died. It isn’t unreasonable to be upset.”

I dropped my head into the crook of her neck and laughed, but it came out as a wail. Hesitantly, I brought my arms up around her waist and returned the hug. She had a point, and I was beginning to think it was a good idea to let my façade down every once in a while.

Blaze’s clothes smelled like cigarettes, but her skin held the scents of Pam’s floral bath products. Underneath it all was a smell I was unused to but knew. It was the scent of a woman. The perfume comforted me, and I unabashedly inhaled it, pressing my face into the damp skin of her neck.

“He was my idol. He accepted me when no one else did” I whispered. “Now he’s gone.”

“Depends on what you believe in,” she countered as she rubbed circles on my back. I barely felt it through my shirt and vest. “But let me tell you something. If he’s watching you from some redneck place up in the clouds, what would he say?”

After a moment, I replied, “He’d say, ‘Boy, you’d better get your ass moving ‘cause we ain’t got time to waste.’”

Her body shook as she laughed. “I think he’d say that too.”

Very aware of our proximity, I dropped my arms and took a baby step back from her. Her dark eyes caught mine and she reached out, pushing hair back from my forehead. Blaze’s hands felt hot and damp against my skin.

“There should be a gas station up here. Frank mentioned it,” I said, breaking the silence.

“Well, let’s hop the fuck to it, Sinclair.”

* * *

A short distance from where we were lie a small pocket of buildings. On the left was a McDonalds and a Subway. Both looked out of place and almost funny. They were so normal and untouched. It was as though they were just closed for the night.

On the right was a lonely Chevron, dark and threatening, and a huge auto body shop. The latter was one huge rectangle in shape, with a single door and window in the front.

Blaze and I stopped pushing the Mustang and I cranked the emergency brake. My arms were stiff from pushing it for so long. She didn’t complain or show any discomfort. After closing the car door, I paused. I didn’t know how to siphon gas like Frank did. Maybe out of another car, but not an electric pump.

A strange make of car I’d never seen before sat by one of the gas pumps. It was metallic orange and vaguely resembled a baby minivan. We walked up behind it, two pumps down, and waited for signs of the Zs. None came. No moaning, no groaning, and no shuffling. Good thing that baby minivan was here.

“We need to find some kind of tubing so I can get gas out of that car,” I told Blaze.

She gazed at the ominous convenience store. “That place looks unscathed. Maybe we can find something in there?”

I looked at it, too, and shrugged. “We could give it a try.”

Blaze grabbed her carbine from the back, but I opted for my 9mm. It would be too hard to handle the flashlight and a larger gun. I checked the clip and made sure I had extras in my vest before moving forward.

The glass doors of the convenience store still had an “Open” sign hanging on it. I went first, pushing the door inward. Without a sound, it smoothly gave way.

I gave Blaze a look and said, “This is too easy. Stay alert.”

Not an item was misplaced or a shelf broken. My flashlight landed upon pristine aisles and a clean, black and white checkered floor. Only the smell—rotted hotdogs and pizza—was out of place.

It was eerie in there. I remembered the incident in Monroe, when a zombie almost got me. That place had seemed safe enough. I knew I had to be more careful now.

Motioning for Blaze to search the right half of the store, I set off for the left, searching for the automotive section most gas stations had.

After only a few moments, I found myself in the candy aisle. Hundreds of colorfully packaged delights stared back at me, and if there was one thing I really needed that night… Well, it was a quick sweet treat.

My pockets already held candy from Sultan, but why eat that when I had some right in front of me? I had to conserve my resources, after all. I ran my hand down the crinkly, smooth selection of candy and stopped at a box of Sour Patch Kids.

Now I only needed some orange Hi-C.

Tube for siphoning forgotten, I began searching for the drink section, which wasn’t too far away. Little orange Hi-C juice boxes beckoned me. I set my handgun on top of the shelves, tore the crinkly packages open and got to work, alternating handfuls of sour candies with gulps of sweet juice.

Halfway through the snack, shuffling and a scream came from somewhere in the back of the station. I dropped everything, grabbed my gun and flashlight, and ran in the direction of the yelling. It only took a moment to find the back door and kick it open.

A greasy, teenage kid had Blaze by the hair. He was swinging from a ceiling fan in a back stock room, not unlike the one in Monroe I’d been attacked in previously. My flashlight revealed mottled blue skin that was peeled and sagged. Diseased mouth open and ruined hands clenching eagerly, he didn’t realize he’d hung himself and couldn’t get anywhere.

(Not like I thought about it every day, but if I were going to kill myself, I’d make sure I could fulfill my zombie duties afterwards.)

“If I had a camera, this would be a Hallmark moment.” I laughed, not making a move to help her. She could help herself.

Blaze reached up and grabbed the Zs wrists. Skin rubbed off, revealing rotted muscle underneath. Her hands slipped and came away with dark, clotted blood.

I noticed her gun right in front of her, just a few feet away. She must’ve dropped it when the kid got her.

“Okay.” I sighed in defeat as I raised my gun.

One shot later, the undead was truly dead. My bullet entered his skull through his right eye and went straight through into the wall behind him. Blood and sticky, dark gore coated the wall and dripped down from the back of his head.

Drip. Drip.

Blaze rubbed her head vigorously and bent over to pick up her rifle. With a displeased glare, she stalked out of the back room and into the store.

“There’s nothing here we can use for the car,” she called, drawing me out of the room, too.

She stood in front of my predicted auto section. There was nothing there we could use either—just windshield wiper fluid, motor oil, and air fresheners. I frowned, rubbing my hand along my jaw.

“We could try that auto shop,” I offered. “They must have something. They might even have gas cans.”

Blaze agreed, but stopped me as I turned to leave.

“There’s a ton of food here. We should take anything we can.”

Why didn’t I think of that? We had zero food, and there was no telling how long it would take to get to the cabin. At this rate it might take days.

I jogged over to the cashier counter and found a neat stack of moderately sized plastic bags. Behind the counter were endless brands of cigarettes, and I knew someone who’d want to take them—but for my own benefit, I kept my mouth shut.

Blaze and I roamed the aisles, shoving anything of use into the bags. She wandered off to the register, and I watched as she withdrew a knife and started prying at a display case lock.

“What are you doing?”

She looked back. “I’m out of cigarettes. Why stop later when I can get them here?”

“You’re kidding,” I griped. “I’m not sure why you’re still smoking. Don’t you see it’s contradictory to our entire goal right now?”

Chuckling, Blaze shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“For starters it’s bad for you. You’re going to get lung cancer, which could kill you. Right now we’re trying to survive. You’re being counterproductive.”

Just to spite me, she stopped and lit up. Smoke snaking from her mouth, she said, “You’re looking kind of fat, Cyrus. That candy vice of yours is really taking its toll, isn’t it?”

I glared. “I’m not getting cancer from sugar.”

“You win some and you lose some, I guess.” She shrugged. “I smoke. I want more cigarettes, plain and fucking simple.”

Some people justified addictions, but she wasn’t one of them. She smoked like a chimney. That was that. I stopped gaping at her and turned away. Her bad habit made me stressed out.

Eating candy was my mechanism against stress. I ripped open another package of Sour Patch Kids and ate them by the mouthful as I finished filling bags. Blaze finished stocking a bag with multiple brands of smokes. I guess she didn’t discriminate. Good for her.

By the end of our raid, we used up all of the plastic sacks. With less caution than usual, we made trips back and forth to fill the empty trunk of the Mustang. Things were looking up.

We decided not to take another chance with our vehicle and pushed it behind the auto body shop, entirely out of sight from the highway. It was convenient since the back of the building had one large garage opening and a back door, which was hanging open. The Mustang would be hidden and we’d still have fast access to it. I went first again and moved to the door, which was a pit of darkness. If any noise came from inside, I wouldn’t have been able to tell. The roof was made of metal, and the pounding rain was amplified inside.

Flashlight raised, I shone it into the abyss.

It was a small office space with a single, shut door near a reception desk directly across from me. There was no sign of a living or undead anywhere. I took a few steps inside and waited for an attack, which never came. A leather couch was against the left wall with a coffee table in front, the last editions of car magazines stacked on it.

With the sound of Blaze’s squelching boots behind me, I ventured in farther. She shut the door, the sound of it barely audible through the noise of rain against the thin roof.

So far so good
, I thought, as I walked over to the only door. It was unlocked, and lead into an open garage space.

Everything in the shop was typical: cars on hydraulic lifts, parts on every surface and shelf, and, sure enough, familiar red gas cans. Things were working out, for we also found a hose.

Blaze and I searched the rest of the area and happened upon nothing else of interest, but since we found what we wanted no one was disappointed. Anything beyond that would have been superfluous.

There were only two cans, but each carried 5 gallons, which would be more than enough for the trip to the cabin. One of the cars in the garage had almost a full tank of gas, saving us the trip back out to the orange car. We carried the filled containers into the reception office and I paused to yawn.

“You tired?” Blaze asked as she set down her can.

I shrugged. “I’ll live.”

She went to the front door and slid the deadbolt into place before going to the single, rectangular window in the room and closing the blinds. After she secured the immediate area, she turned back to me. The light of her flashlight was pointed down, but it reflected off the white tile and created an ambient light.

“It’s been a long day,” she said. “Now’s a convenient time to sleep, so I think we should.”

“We’re so close. We’re almost there.” I tried to keep my voice firm. My drowsiness agreeing with the notion of a long nap.

Blaze shook her head and went to the couch, plopping down and turning off her flashlight.

“Don’t be unreasonable. I’ll even let you be chivalrous and sleep on the floor.”

Shining my flashlight near her, I spotted a grin on her lips.

I sat on the floor next to her. “That’s supposed to be a privilege, huh?”

“Sure is.” She reached down and took my light, clicking it off. “Go to sleep. We’ll head out first thing in the morning.”

The right thing to do would’ve been to continue disagreeing, but I felt strangely comfortable as I leaned against the couch. Maybe a little nap would be fine? I was drowsy. I’d just close my eyes for a second.

* * *

Guilt still plagued me and kept me from shutting my eyes, let alone sleeping. I turned on my side once again, my clothes brushing over the tile floor.

When I fell asleep earlier, it was only for an hour, until my body, without consulting my mind, decided that was a very sensible amount of sleep. Since then, I’d tossed on the hard tile, trying to find a comfortable position. No fortune on that front.

“What’s the issue?”