Guns, Rations, Rigs and the Undead Page 9

  Lincoln narrowed his eyes at the silent threat. It’d be Lincoln’s lucky day if the dumbass tried to attack him, but Chase was usually all talk—unless he knew he’d win—then he’d bite. Lincoln stood his ground in front of the store feeling his right hand twitch toward the holster on his belt.

  “And he has two baskets full of goodies,” Jenny crooned nasally craning her neck to get a peek at his supplies.

  “Not sure why you’re so excited,” Lincoln’s voice was sarcastically rough. “You need teeth to eat.”

  Jenny scowled shutting her mouth and fighting the urge to cover it with her hand.

  “That wasn’t nice,” Gunther chipped in crossing his sausage arms over his chest and spitting on the ground. Overweight and extremely slow, Gunther had more gut than anything else on his body.

  “Is that what people say about me?” Lincoln asked with a sarcastic tone feigning surprise by raising his eyebrows. “That I’m nice? Or is she blowing you? I guess it’s nice to know she can’t bite.”

  Gunther’s face lit up beet red but before he could reply Chase answered for him, “No, they say you’re a crazy fucking bastard that tries to bring down the government.”

  “Looks like I did a pretty good job then,” Lincoln said claiming the anarchy around him. He felt something brush against his arm and found the bun looking at him again. Lincoln wanted to roll his eyes. Of course the kid with the bun would come to his aid, he thought, the one time he needs some help and it’s a gender confused boy.

  “Watch my carts kid,” Lincoln mumbled lowly pulling the Glock out of his holster. The people in the vicinity gave him a wide berth. He stood right under the sliding door frame and aimed at Chase, “My first rule. Don’t aim unless you intend to shoot. You move any closer from that spot I will shoot you. That goes for all of you. And everyone here will say you were trying to kill me,” Lincoln warned and caught movement, arcing the gun toward Paula. “Paula you twitch out of line it better be backward.”

  Several shouted behind him and agreed to Lincoln’s statement. More for their own sake than Lincoln’s, but he seemed to be the only one able to get them out safely. So they rallied around him moving closer from behind. Lincoln swiveled his gaze around the group in front of him waiting for retaliation.

  “You can’t shoot all of us,” Gunther said in a know-it-all tone.

  The statement was true, but not because Lincoln wouldn’t be fast enough to injure all five of them. Lincoln knew he didn’t have enough bullets left in his magazine. “But it would sure be fun to try wouldn’t it,” Lincoln smiled crazily, setting up his bluff. “So make your move Gunther. Let’s see who’s faster. My bullet, or your dumb ass.”

  Chase put his arms up in surrender, “No need to get pissy Lincoln, we’re all here because we just want some food. We’ll let you go on your way. Nobody will bother you.”

  In the corner of his eye Lincoln saw movement and automatically turned and fired. Shocked gasps and short screams rippled over the crowd as the blood soaked through Michael’s shirt and he shrieked watching the blood spill through his fingers, screaming, “He shot me! He shot me! The mother fucker actually shot me!”

  Lincoln aimed at Chase again, keeping his eyes on the other four people in his peripheral vision as everyone moved toward Michael. “Looks like I just gave you a reason to move out of my way. I can give you two more, but the max is four, and the fifth one. Pain free,” Lincoln gestured to Chase’s head.

  “Let’s go,” Chase yelled furiously jogging to Michael’s side. Gunther was pushed away because Michael wouldn’t let anyone near him. Jenny started crying, babbling like an idiot asking Gunther if Michael was going to die. Paula’s eyes bounced from Chase to Lincoln, her stare icy with rage.

  “But—.”

  “NOW!” Chase interrupted Paula. Gunther and Jenny guided Michael away still in shock. Paula followed them glaring at Lincoln over her shoulder. Chase stared at Lincoln from his spot writhing in anger and tapping the crowbar against his leg, “See you soon Lincoln.”

  “Target practice is everyday Chase,” Lincoln replied candidly. “Live targets are always welcome.” He still had the gun aimed at Chase and didn’t lower it until he left in an old pick up peeling out of the parking lot.

  Everyone shouted appreciatively in unison, thanking Lincoln on their way out. Bun boy pushed a cart nudging Lincoln with it, “Sorry we tried to take your box earlier.”

  “Yea, well, cut the bun off your head and we’ll be even.”

  “It’s in style.”

  “For girls.”

  “It’s a man bun.”

  Lincoln rolled both carts out of the store turning right so he could get around to the back then said over his shoulder, “Men put buns in their mouth, not on their heads.”

  Turning the next corner Lincoln followed the brick building to the back. Only the dumpster was in his path as he rolled the supplies as fast as he could feeling exposed as cars drifted by. He could feel them staring behind the tinted windows. Someone drove by too slowly, Lincoln was sure they were going to stop. When they didn’t he quickened his pace and caught sight of someone peering at him from the back of the store. Wyatt jogged to him taking one of the carts from him to help, “How the hell did you get your hands on two carts?”

  “Long story.”

  They reached the car with the trunk already open. It only had a few cans stacked inside.

  “That’s all you got?” Lincoln asked.

  “They stole my box. Tripped me and the box fell. All hell broke loose! Did you hear the gun shots?! People have gone crazy! Someone told me that Greg had been stabbed and was still walking around. After everything I’ve seen today I knew it was time to get the hell out of there. That’s when I just took what I had and left.”

  “Chaos,” Lincoln said the one word, too exhausted to go into detail about his trip inside the store. He started unloading the carts hastily, Wyatt following his lead. They sloppily shoved everything in, causing items to roll out of the trunk and hit the concrete. After they filled the trunk they started throwing things in the backseat. It also gave Lincoln a chance to check on his chicken.

  In the front seat again, Lincoln waited as Wyatt happily took the familiar streets home.

  Eleven

  A slight tapping noise woke Lincoln up from his couch. Out of habit he made a grab for the gun on the floor, something he’d been carrying around with him for years. His paranoia only increased since Burt ate Patty, the attack at Alfredo’s farm, and the ghouls he killed with Samuel and inside the grocery store. Not to mention, Chase might be stupid enough take him up on his offer, and his neighbors tried to force him to open his bunker’s doors to their children. Feeling ten years older he drowsily rubbed his face getting the sleep out of his eyes before lifting himself up to peek out the window.

  Wyatt’s wife, Phoebe, had her small hands wrapped around a long tree limb making it tap against the window pane to get Lincoln’s attention. She was a tiny, birdlike woman, extremely skinny, missing all the curves a woman should have. Sharp edges made up her jaw line and she flipped her long, straight, honey blonde hair over her shoulder and out of the way. Her green eyes wandered from left to right as she stood on Lincoln’s lawn hoping no one was paying attention to her.

  It’d been less than twenty-four hours since Lincoln spent half the day with Wyatt. Antsy to get away from him, Lincoln had the car door open before Wyatt made a complete stop in front of his house. The cooler was out first. Lincoln squeezed through the opening stretching his legs and shutting the car door behind him. Without a glance back or a thank you, Lincoln gripped the cooler quickly striding up his driveway. He could feel the neighbors peering out their windows, wondering about the contents in the cooler. If they approached him about sharing his supplies again, he planned to show them the end of his barrel.

  “What about the stuff in the trunk?” Wyatt asked shouting from the car with the window rolled down, “And I really want to try the chicken but I understand if you want
to keep—.”

  Lincoln gave Wyatt the universal gesture to shut-the-fuck-up-and-wait. The minute he was inside he ran to the fridge and placed his chickens inside. The last one he placed in a plastic bag and hauled it back to Wyatt, leaving it on the passenger side seat without saying a word.

  Wyatt got out of the car and started toward the trunk but Lincoln was already halfway to his front door, “Lincoln? The stuff in the trunk.”

  “I didn’t see anything I wanted when we were unloading it,” Lincoln said quickly so Wyatt would leave him alone. He’d had enough of the man today. It was like being forced to hang out with your boss.

  “It doesn’t seem fair for me to keep it all, you—.”

  Lincoln interrupted him firmly stating, “I’ll see you later Wyatt.” Then he shut his front door relieved to be home.

  Not even a whole day had passed before Phoebe came along knocking on his door. Obviously wanting something Wyatt and she disagreed on. Otherwise Wyatt would be asking for it. A husband wouldn’t willingly send his wife out to ask for favors of another man. Lincoln stood against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest wondering what she could possibly want to leach off him this time. He already gave them two carts full of groceries and she had nothing with her, so she wasn’t delivering anything. Frowning, he stood there silently ignoring the taps that woke him up.

  After several attempts and no answer Phoebe finally asked quietly, “Lincoln? Are you home?” The tone suggested she didn’t want anyone else to hear what she was about to tell him. She held the tree branch like a cane and glanced back and forth, and up and down the street several times before she spoke lowly, “Lincoln I know you’re home. I don’t know if you’re listening but I wanted to thank you for the groceries.” She paused hoping it would incite him to open the door.

  Her shoulders slumped with disappointment and she continued, “I’ve also come to ask you for a favor. I hoped to do it in person but I came prepared.” She pulled out an envelope from her pocket, smoothing it out while she said, “First, I’d like to apologize for the years we ignored you, but to be honest I never thought you wanted to be neighborly. We never intended to make you feel left out. I just thought you wanted to be left alone. I made a mistake. I’m sorry that I never bothered to ask you to join us. I should have asked.” She paused for a moment, the life draining out of her from the burden of what the future held for her and her family.

  Not all of them would make it, especially with two little ones. Whatever the future held—she won’t live through it. Not after if she loses her children—but Wyatt, he could live to see the world once it recuperates and builds anew. He just needs a little guidance. Someone to show him how to survive.

  The second Wyatt came home Phoebe knew something was wrong. She helped him haul everything inside and all the while his grim facial expression never changed. The groceries were a blessing, something they should both be grateful for, especially after she finally got Wyatt to tell her how he’d gotten them. But she couldn’t catch his eye, for some reason he couldn’t stop moving. It took a lot of coaxing before he finally told her what he’d witnessed at the farm and the sporting goods store.

  He relived every word of the story he told her, experiencing the horror of being defenseless against something that shouldn’t exist. The images plaguing him, shaking the entire foundation he built his life on. When his eyes finally settled on her she could tell he was staring straight through her, seeing something that wasn’t really there.

  “I still see them Phoebe. Covered in blood. I still smell the rotten stench,” Wyatt whispered when he finished telling her the unbelievable stories of dead men walking. He was seeing a future he couldn’t comprehend. Facing a hard truth where only the strong will survive. And he had two little ones to look after.

  Phoebe sat quietly absorbing all the new information. She tried to stay composed and not go completely insane. On the inside she curled into herself, trying to wrap her body in a tight cocoon where she could hide away until the world was righted again. It was still hard to believe what she’d seen with her own eyes when Burt hovered over Patty shoving pieces of her into his mouth. Her stomach churned at the thought, and her mind went rampant with a future filled with death and disaster.

  While she sat for almost an hour trying to process everything Wyatt had told her, he paced around the house mumbling to himself unable to sit still. Alert and jerking at every noise. Constantly peeking out the windows, almost like he was waiting for the world to officially end.

  “Should we call a meeting and tell everyone what’s happening?” Phoebe finally broke the silence.

  “Who would believe me?” Wyatt replied and Phoebe fell quiet knowing he was right.

  Wyatt wasn’t a man to get spooked easily, but the outing with Lincoln had shifted something deep inside of him. It made him question everything. It made him wonder if it was worth trying to survive—when there wasn’t a future to look forward to.

  Leaving Wyatt to his thoughts, Phoebe chose to get rid of hers. She did the only thing she could think of to find some type of control in the situation—she started to research Lincoln’s theory of a virus. With the tiny bit of information she scoured over the web for hours finding nothing about a new disease online, but it did lead her to a lot of articles involving hospitals.

  She read one story after another about relatives disappearing in hospitals. Dozens of furious family members in several different states were searching for answers. All of the stories were similar, someone was taken in for skin discoloration, being lethargic and glassy eyed, but disappeared after being admitted. Several people only stepped away from their family member to get lunch or coffee, only to return to an empty bed. The nurses and doctors unaware the patient had gotten up. Over and over Phoebe read the same stories with the same symptoms searching for a different result, but they all ended the same way—with someone missing.

  Following each story that gave a hospital name, she moved backwards gathering information and found quarantined hospitals. Some of them were quarantined preceding the missing patient reports, and others followed after missing person complaints. Each quarantined hospital was being heavily guarded by the military and bringing in prestigious doctors from all over the world according to a man named Bennett on his vlog. Dr. Roland Bellinger was seen entering several buildings. Phoebe had no idea who he was but Bennett explained that he worked for the CDC and focused on incurable diseases.

  The words mounted a pressure over her chest and shoulders. A new epidemic. The old and young are always the first to go. Absentmindedly, she ended up at Ethan’s door, her youngest was fast asleep when she peeked in at him. She stood in the doorway watching him sleep soundly as she forced herself to leave him alone and not gather him in her arms for a hug she desperately needed. He wasn’t too old for her kisses and hugs. Not yet. Silently tiptoeing down the hall she opened her daughter, Melanie’s, door a crack. The little girl stirred, her eyes opening and peering at her mother.

  “Mommy?” Melanie whispered sitting up slowly in bed.

  “Go back to sleep,” Phoebe sniffled lovingly, glad the shadows hid her teary eyes.

  Melanie slid down back under her covers as Phoebe shut her door. Wyatt had found her in the hallway sitting against the wall staring at both their children’s doors, waiting for something to try to sneak in. Waiting for something she’d never be able to fight. Waiting for the inevitable to happen right before her eyes while she sits and watches.

  She never had the luxury of living in denial. Facts and statistics are what kept her sane her entire life. The reality of the situation, knowing what the outcome could be and how often it happens. It gave her solace, a type of control. Wyatt said nothing when he found her. Because he could see the horrific truth reflected back at him in her eyes. The dim, dreary future he was contemplating himself.

  The haunting truth kept following him around their house and wouldn’t leave him alone. Everywhere he went it was waiting for him to take a moment, to
stand still so it could swallow him whole. Drag him down into the depths of an unending black hole. It was hovering over his wife now, slowly creeping in to claim her. She was crumbling under its weight. He took a deep breath sitting next her, and slid his arm around her like a shield—eye to eye with the demon. Phoebe curled into his side and cried on his shoulder.

  The moment sparked a will to survive at all costs in the man. He consoled her for a good hour before he got to work. She sat in the dark hallway guarding her sleeping children as Wyatt moved restlessly from room to room placing bats, golf clubs and hiding knives everywhere. He picked a favorite club, fastened it to his pants and took it everywhere he went. Tools were brought in and he started making lists murmuring about supplies he’d need to reinforce the windows and doors.

  She eventually fell asleep on the floor, waking up to Ethan smiling down at her. Hugging him tightly she wearily got to her feet finding Wyatt organizing all the food he brought home. It was midmorning by the time she got him to finally agree to try and get some sleep. She hoped to be back before he woke up.

  The memory of last night made her lip quiver and she sucked in some air to give her courage. With that little bit of hope she began, “I wanted to ask you if you would look out for Wyatt. He’ll need someone...and I think you might be the only one still alive. If you would, just take it into consideration.” She stared hopefully at the door, giving it a wan smile. She slipped an envelope under the doormat and trailed backward for a moment trying to find a hint of someone listening on the other side of the wall. Then she walked back the way she came.

  Even after she was out of sight for ten minutes and no one made a surprise appearance, Lincoln still didn’t want to risk opening the door. He had unplugged the electric gadget several times only to plug it back in. Curiosity finally won him over after staring at the white envelope for thirty-three minutes. I’m wasting time, he thought. Unplugging the electric gadget, his fingers itched to plug it back in but he refrained long enough to step away and stand in front of the door. Opening it slowly to peek out at an empty street, he held the door wide open and bent over to pick up the envelope.