Thirteenth Entry: Wheels

July 24th

We’ve spent a couple of days now in the convenience store of a gas station (it’s called Snacky Mart, in case you were interested). It’s not a bad temporary shelter, it’s secure (Gerry was able to pick the lock so we did not have to break a window) and no one has raided it for supplies, so there is a fair amount of soda, water, and energy drinks here. The food leaves to be desired though. In order to not use up the emergency food we saved from the hotel we have been living on chips, cookies, and candy bars, with only nuts and jerky for protein.

The fire from the hotel must have gone out, as it was no longer visible after the first night. This is a good thing, as I was a little worried that it could spread to take out a sizable chunk of the city with no one around to fight it.

We spent the first day here trying to decide what to do. Sharon was adamant about going back to Mallville (I haven’t told her that she no longer has an apartment, and what remains of her possessions are in a suitcase in my living room, which may not matter, because I may not have an apartment anymore either), but the others were a little more cautious.

Jimmy and Maria were both very concerned about what may happen if we try to go back. Gerry and I were pretty undecided about it. We both definitely want to go home, but we both were also willing to acknowledge Jimmy and Maria’s concerns.

In the end we decided that we will go back, but we’re not going to just go marching down the street where someone loyal to Kaur can pick us off from the roof, and say that we were zeds. Maria still has her walkie talkie on her (Gerry lost his as Bianco’s, and mine was destroyed in the car fire), so when we get within a few blocks on Mallville, she’s going to try and use it to contact Alex.

That decision led to a new dilemma though. How do we get there? Jimmy’s injury makes travel on foot horribly slow. It took us a hour just to get from the Majestic to here, and even though he tried not to show it, I could tell Jimmy was practically dying from the pain by the time we stopped. I have a suspicion that when he finally does see a doctor, it’s going to be too late for his leg to ever fully recover.

If we’re going to walk, we need to find something to move Jimmy in. He protested this idea when it was brought up, but I know that was just an issue of pride. I understand not wanting to have to be pushed around like a baby in a stroller.

The other option is to find a car. It makes me miss the day where gas stations had garages, because there were no cars left at the gas station. Maria, Gerry, and I went searching for a car, and there are actually none in the immediate area (which was pretty much a two square block radius around the gas station). No cars, none, not a single freaking one; unbelievable.

I know where we are now, and yes, we did go the opposite direction of Mallville, and a bit farther than I had originally thought. If I’m right (and I have not checked on a map or anything), we’re about 6 miles from Mallville. That would be about an hours brisk walk under normal conditions, but it feels like a lifetime since conditions were last normal.

We did not return from that initial exploration empty-handed though. We came across a store called “Live Long, Live Well”; it’s one of those places that sells things for seniors like electric scooters, walkers, canes, diapers, and, luckily, wheelchairs. We are now the proud owners of a Karman S-305 Ergonomic Ultralight Wheelchair. This thing sells for $600 according to the sign in the store, but we got the five finger discount, and because we were such great customers, (we offed the fat naked zed that was wandering the street in front of the store) they threw in a backpack that attaches to the back of the chair.

Our mostly fruitless exploration ate up pretty much all of the daylight, and we locked ourselves inside the Snacky Mart just as the last bit of sunlight faded. As good a lockpicker as Gerry is, it is nice to have found a set of keys in the closet-like manager’s office for letting ourselves in and out of the store. Gerry’s fast, but keys are easier.

Jimmy’s reaction to the wheelchair was mixed. While he was clearly glad to have a way to move around without crutches, he did not seem happy with having to use it. Gerry says it’s just Jimmy’s pride kicking his ass, having to come to terms with the possibility of spending the rest of his life in a chair and all, and I’m inclined to agree. I know if tomorrow I couldn’t walk anymore it would drive me nuts. Despite being lazy and useless, I hate feeling helpless.

Sharon had not spent the day just sitting around. She had done some in depth exploring in the storage areas of the gas station, and come up with a small propane gas ring. That combined with one of the tanks from the propane cage out front produced us a hot meal, not a great meal, but a hot meal.

Not wanting to dip into our supplies from the hotel, Sharon only used ingredients from the convenience store, and so we were treated to a very peppery beef jerky stew. While it is not the worst thing I have ever put in my mouth, it was certainly not the best. I don’t know if this is because Sharon is a lousy cook (this is the first time I’ve ever had her cooking), or just because beef jerky stew is an acquired taste.

Today was a bit more exciting, not that that is necessarily a good thing. We got an early start, Gerry, Maria, and I, and decided to expand our search radius. We went two blocks out this time, because even though we now have the wheelchair we would still like to not have to walk back to the mall. Yes I know that in the time we have spent looking for a car, we could have just walked back.

The first hour of walking was uneventful. We didn’t even see any zeds, although I kept getting the feeling we were being watched, and seeing movement out of the corner of my eyes. However, seeing as zeds are not particularly stealthy, I decided that this was my imagination. I was wrong.

About halfway through the second hour, we finally struck the jackpot. The National River Church of the Everlasting had a good dozen cars in its parking lot, including a large van with their logo, a sun rising over what was either meant to be water or bacon, on it. Thinking that there may be keys to some of these vehicles, or even survivors inside, we took a closer look.



The church was nothing special as churches go. It was a freestanding structure in the middle of a block, a moat of parking lot surrounding the beige building and its lawn. The sun shown brightly off the stained glass windows that lurked near the tops of the walls, and the grass was even a bit greener than what I have gotten used to seeing. It really was like a beacon sent from God. The sign out front read:

GOD’S WRATH IS UPON US
REPENT AND RECEIVE HIS BLESSING
ALL ARE WELCOME

Feeling we could do with a little blessing, we went to the large brown front doors of the church.

We tried the doors, but found them locked. Gerry set to them with his lockpicks.

“This is a pretty good lock,” Gerry commented as his felt with the picks for the tumblers inside the lock, “You wouldn’t think you’d need such a good lock on a church.”

The lock opened with a click, and as Gerry started to pull the double doors open towards us, I heard footfalls on the street behind us. Someone was running towards us, ”Don’t open that!” a man’s voice yelled.

As if intentionally synchronized, Maria, Gerry, and I turned to face this newcomer, Maria and I raising our rifles, Gerry still holding onto the door. The man was thin, and looked to be middle aged with streaks of gray in his slicked black hair. He was wearing a denim shirt and blue jeans, a leather strap running across his chest to a rifle holster on his back. In his right hand he clutched a lever action rifle, and stapped to his right thigh was, of all things, a chainsaw with some weird metal collar around the handgrip.

We only had a second to look at this newcomer before the smell from inside the church assaulted us. I would say the odor is what I imagine Hell smells like, but there was no sulfur, just rot, decay, and death.

The three of us turned back, and found that there were no survivors in the church, only about 20 of the undead. We stared at the zeds, shocked, and they stared right back. They were scattered around the interior of the church, some in the pews, some by the altar, some in the central aisle.

For a moment no one moved, and then as if someone had fired a starter’s pistol the zombies surged towards us. Many of the ones in the pews tried to walk through the rows of benches, and stumbled over them, but the ones in the aisle and by the altar had a clear shot down the center of the church.

Gerry closed the door as fast as the pneumatics would allow, and backed away, trying to bring up his rifle as we all backpedaled away from the door and onto the lawn, all of us except for the newcomer that is.

I heard the whir of an electric motor, and saw a blur of blue as the stranger passed me. Since I turned my back on him, he had re-holstered his rifle, and pulled his chainsaw from its place on his thigh. The strange metal collar covered his hand up past the wrist leaving no flesh exposed on his right arm.

As the first zombie hit the doors, they pushed outward, and he came though. He was wearing a black shirt with a white priest’s collar. Other than being undead, he looked uninjured. I saw nothing on his that made it clear how he died in the first place. God only knows what actually happened in the church, and He is welcome to keep that knowledge to himself.

The stranger brought the chainsaw up to meet Father Ghoul’s head, and the blade bit into the zed’s face. As much as I would like to say it did, the chainsaw did not slice the zombie’s skull in two, it did however rip a huge chunk out of the zed’s face, and knock it off balance, and send it stumbling back into three more zombies who had now reached the door.

The man in blew swung the chainsaw again, this time are the zombie’s neck. The motor’s sound got deeper as it cut through the spine of the undead preacher, and after a couple of seconds, the head fell to the ground with a wet thud, followed a moment later by the body.

The three zombies that had been behind the preacher, two men and a woman dressed in what had likely been their Sunday best, lunged, mouths open, at the chainsaw wielding nutcase. He turned the blade to meet them, and all three got a nice mouthful of chainsaw blade. The combined force of the three ghouls drove the man backwards towards us.

I couldn’t see him do it though that metal wrist guard of course, but I know he pulled the trigger on the saw, because the chain again spun to life. The stranger pushed against the zombies as the chain tore its way through teeth, cheeks, and tongues, and drove it back deeper into their mouths. The zed’s hands clutched at the stranger, but after a couple of seconds, their heads above the jawline popped off in a spray of rotted gore.

The stranger pulled free of the semi-headless zombies’ grasps easily as they jaws dropped to hang limply against their throats before they dropped to the ground to never rise again. The bodies of the zeds blocked the door from swinging back shut.

The stranger turned to us and yelled,” Feel free to jump in here and put those guns to use at anytime!”

That woke us up, and we ran forward to line up alongside this strange man. I was able to get a closer look at him, and realized that my original estimation of his age was way off. He looked like he might be younger than me, eighteen or nineteen maybe. Whatever he had been through in the last few months must have made what I’ve been through seem like a fucking cakewalk, because I know I cannot look that bad… although I’ve not looked in a mirror in the last few days.

Like the priest, none of the zeds I got a clear look at had any visible indication as to how they died the first time. I cannot get over that. It haunts me in a way that little that has happened since the end has. I cannot remember any zeds that I have seen that did not have some sign of death to them; usually a bite mark somewhere. Poisoned maybe?

Five more zeds had managed to jam themselves in the door to the church. The door was a three abreast kind of door at the very max, so unless someone had the manners to step back, the zeds would not have gotten through too fast. They never had the chance.

I fired, taking out a blue-haired old lady; her head popping like an overripe melon. Maria and Gerry also shot, taking down a man in a black golf shirt and khaki pants, and a woman in a white blouse and black slacks. As the three zeds dropped to the ground, the fourth one who had been stuck in the door, a black guy with a shaved head, and a charcoal colored suit, broke free.

The zed tried to come forward, but tripped over the body of the priest, and sprawled face first onto the ground. The zed tried to get back up, but the stranger shoved him back to the ground with a booted foot to the back. Holding the tip of the chainsaw against the back of the zeds head, the stranger spoke again, ”Hail to the king, baby!” The chainsaw again whirred to life, and dug into the zed's skull, spraying bits of bone and rotted brains into the air until the zombie stopped moving.

Another pair of zombies, these two really fast and short darted out the door; the nimbly leapt over the growing pile of corpses in front of the door, and went straight for Gerry, who froze; they were kids, a boy and a girl with blond hair, maybe twins.

I think this may have been the first time seeing undead children for any of us, even Maria seemed unsure how to react. The kids hit Gerry in the midsection, and knocked him off balance. He went down with a surprised, 'Help!”

The stranger was on it. He hit the girl in the face with the flat of the chainsaw blade, knocking her off Gerry and towards Maria, where she landed on her back. He then kicked the boy in the head with a boot as Gerry tried to push it off of himself with his rifle.

The little girl was on her feet in a flash, and facing Maria, who reacted, I think, more out of revulsion than her usual ruthlessness when it comes to zeds. She swung the butt of her rifle into the side of the girl's skull. There was a sickening crunch as the rifle caved in the child's fragile skull, knocking her down for the last time.

The boy was a little slower to recover from the boot to the head, giving the stranger time to pull his rifle from the sling on his back with his left hand. I assumed from the way he wielded the chainsaw that he was right-handed, so this left handed pull should have been awkward, but it wasn't. He balanced the barrel of the rifle on the blade of the chainsaw, and fired into the rising boy's face, spraying the boy's rotting brains all over the sidewalk.

I'm not sure how he pulled it off, but somehow he worked the rifle's lever, and chambered another round, and then turned to point the barrel of the rifle at the biggest zombie I've ever seen that was lumbering towards the door of the church. This thing must have weighed four or five hundred pounds, he made me look like freaking Jared from Subway by comparison.

The stranger extended his left arm out, turning his body in profile towards the zed, “Come get some!” he called, and fired.

This left-handed shot was off, and it hit the obese zed in its left shoulder instead of its head. Due, I guess, to the sheer bulk of the thing, the zed did not even stagger from the shot. Far from being injured, being shot seemed to actually piss the thing off, because it charged.

The undead fat man barreled forward, somehow managing to stagger its way over the corpses blocking the door way. Rage and pain filled its cloudy eyes as it went right for our new friend, who was trying to work the lever on his rifle again.

Rather than try and shoot at this rampaging bull of a zed, I instead threw myself at the stranger, doing my best to not kill myself on his chainsaw. The stranger and I staggered right out of the way of the zombie like a matador dodging a bull, but without the flair. I felt the wind of the zombie passing right behind me, his weight carrying him forward now whether he wanted to stop or not.

The fat zombie staggered to a stop on the lawn, and turned to face us, which is to say that he turned to face four people aiming rifles at his head (which was stupid when you think about the fact that we turned our back on the remaining zombies in the church). The zed snarled, and I was again struck by the emotion that seemed to show on this thing’s face. The emotion was hatred, but it still makes me wonder if there is anything left of the original people in these creatures. What if somewhere in each of these things the rational consciousness of these people is still trapped?

“Say goodnight,” quipped the stranger.

The zombie took a step towards us, and we opened fire. His head disintegrated in a spray of rotten blood and brains as our shots tore into its face and neck. I’m not sure how many times it was shot, but I know I contributed four rounds to it myself. When we stopped moments later, there was a ragged bloody mess between its shoulders. The thing continued towards us, but now it was just inertia carrying it forward, and after a couple of steps the zed fell hard enough that I swear the ground shook.

We turned back to the church, and no more zeds were coming out. We could hear the ones still inside though as they knocked around between the rows of benches, unable to think clearly enough to come to the center aisle and pursue us.

“Lets finish off the rest,” said Maria.

“Clear the doorway first. Make sure those monsters are really dead, and not just playing possum,” said the chainsaw wielding stranger.

This was clearly a good idea, and not one that any of us would have thought of. Not only could one of the zeds be waiting for us to get in biting distance, but if we had to make a retreat, having the doorway clear would be to our advantage.

We dragged the dead zombies out of the way as fast as possible, and with the exception of the head of the priest, they were all indeed dead. The priest’s head was dispatched with the butt of Gerry’s rifle.

We formed into a sort of V formation, and entered the church, the stranger and Maria in the front, and the somewhat less fit Gerry and myself in the rear. As we moved up to the front of the church we dispatched the remaining zombies as they tried to extricate themselves from the rows of seating. Within a couple of minutes the church was clear of the living dead, and we got a chance to really look around.

There was nothing spectacular or unusual about the church. The central aisle was flanked on both sides by rows of benches, and led to a raised section of the floor on which sat the altar. To either side of the altar the church closed in, almost making the alter look like a stage behind a proscenium arch. There were doors to either side which turned out to be a storage room, and a small office.

We did not bother dragging the zeds outside to join the others on the grass since we were not planning on staying for any length of time. What we did do was close the doors; it’s not like someone intending to harm us wouldn’t notice the bunch of zombies rotting in front of the building, but at least it would make the chances of any random roamers coming to join us in the church that much lower.

Set into the wall behind the altar was a stained glass window depicting Jesus with a halo of light surrounding his head. His arms were outstretched in a welcoming gesture, like he was willing to give you a hug if you needed one. The sunlight outside illuminated the window beautifully behind the seemingly undisturbed altar. If one were to take a picture cropping out everything around the altar, it would look perfectly normal.

On the altar an ornate bible sat open and untouched. While we were there, I went up to look at it. It was open to Isaiah, and a passage had been highlighted :
But your dead will live; their bodies will rise.
You who dwell in the dust, wake up and shout for joy.
Your dew is like the dew of the morning; the earth will give birth to her dead.
Go, my people, enter your rooms and shut the doors behind you; hide yourselves for a little while until his wrath has passed by.
Is that what they were doing in here? Waiting for His wrath to pass? I guess it found them anyway. I hope they are free now, I pray that, if they were trapped in those shells, they are free now.

The rest of the church was a mess. Aside from the mess we made blowing holes in the former parishioners, there was an overturned cart to the left of the alter, a large coffee urn lay in the middle of a long dry brown stain in the floor’s industrial red carpet, and Styrofoam cups, many crushed under foot, were scattered all around it.

In the corners next to the door to the office stood a large yellow work light, the kind with a tripod base and two big halogen lights on it. In the corner next to the storage closet the twin to that work light lay on its side on the floor. The cage around the lights had protected one in the fall, but the other was bent in, and there was a small amount of broken glass on the floor under it.

From the bases of the two spotlights snaked thick black cords, the one by the storage closet had been run along the wall behind the altar; it was connected to a bright orange extension cord at the halfway point. Following the cords led us into the small church office.

The office was plain. A desk with a computer and a black telephone on it was situated so that the user’s back would be to the small window set high up in the wall. In front of the desk sat two visitor’s chairs, and up against the wall behind them was an ugly brown couch that looked like the priest had liberated it from some college kid’s first apartment.

In the corner of the office was a small refrigerator with a microwave on top of it. On top of the microwave sat a white coffee maker. Next to the fridge was a bookshelf, the kind you get at Ikea, and it was crammed with books. On the floor in front of the bookshelf was where the two cords from the work lights ended plugged into a gas powered generator that had long since run out of fuel.

Going through the priest’s desk, Gerry found a keychain with a couple of car keys on it. There was a plain plastic key chain on the ring that someone had written “bus” on in black sharpie. Jackpot.

“So you guys are from Mallville, right?” asked the stranger, his chainsaw once again in its holster on his thigh.

“Yes, how did you know?” asked Gerry.

“I’ve been seeing your little caravans going back an forth. You’re also clearly not with those fucking bikers, which puts you guys one up in my book, so long as you leave some supplies out here for me. You can call me Ash, by the way.”

“Ash?” I asked, ”Like in the movie?”

“Yup.” He grinned, and insanity shown brightly in his eyes.

Well all introduced ourselves to him, and explained our current situation and plan.

”Why don’t you come back with us?” I asked.

“Yeah, Kaur’d love that!” commented Maria.

“No way, that place is a deathtrap. I’m quite happy where I am.”

“Where are you?” asked Gerry.

“Someplace safe. I’ve got everything I need; supplies, weapons, and an escape route if needed. As long as I do not need to abandon it, I could live there for another year just with what I have now.”

“Someplace with power?” asked Maria.

“No, the power has been permanently shut off, no one’s around to pay the bill anymore, and I lost my job a few months ago.”

“How are you keeping that saw charged up?” Maria’s intent with her first question became apparent.

“You know those little roll up solar panels they sell for charging mp3 players and stuff? They can charge bigger things too, it just takes awhile. I’ve got a whole mess of battery packs sitting on the roof charging in the beautiful summer sun. I’m not sure yet what to do about the winter.”

“Ash isn’t really your name is it?” I asked.

The crazy in his eyes flickered briefly,”I am now. Any other person I might have been died with the rest of the world, and no one wants to hear about that.”

“Why do you say that Mallville is a deathtrap?” asked Gerry.

“So many people locked in one place? Not only are you a target for groups like the Hell’s Postmen, but it’s only a matter of time before you’re overrun with deadites from the inside?” I caught Ash’s movie reference there, but Maria looked at him quizzically even though she said nothing.

“But we have an organized resistance against the zeds there. We have supplies, electricity, running water; it’s got to be better than whatever you have now.” Gerry tried to convince him.

“We can get you in. We could use someone with your ability,” said Maria.

“I’m a loner, baby. I can’t be responsible for anyone but me; not anymore, not ever again. I do a great job looking after me, and keeping my little part of the city clear of deadites, and clean. I’m sure you noticed the lack of rotting deadite corpses, eh?”

We all kind of had to admit that we hadn’t. This resulted in Ash making us help him drag the zed corpses around back of the church where they would not be visible from the street, not that there were likely to be a lot of traffic in the foreseeable future.

When that job was done, we tested out the van, and found that it started right up. We invited Ash to come back to the mini mart with us, even if he would not come to Mallville with us.

“Well, you are on the edge of my territory here, so I wouldn’t be leaving it totally undefended,” said Ash thoughtfully, “and I should introduce myself to the other two in your group, so why not?”

Gerry had found a set of keys for the church’s front door in the office during his search, and we re-locked the doors when we left the church. I said a silent prayer for the people who had died in the church as we headed for the van in the parking lot. Something about a church full of the undead just seemed really fucked up to me; blasphemy in a blasphemous world, I guess.

We got back to the Snacky Mart in a couple of minutes. The van ran beautifully for having been sitting unused for four months or so. Ash suggested we park behind the building so the van would not be seen by anyone passing, presumably the Hell’s Postmen.

Sharon had tried to be creative with snack food again, and we were “treated” to jerky casserole with a Frito crust. I have to say, it was better than the jerky stew, but can you imagine how much sodium must have been in it?

Ash stayed with us until after it got dark, and I got a chance to talk to hi while the others did their own things. Maria started cleaning the rifles with a gun cleaning kit that had ended up in one of the backpacks, Gerry and Jimmy started playing cards, and Sharon went up to the roof to do a shift as lookout.

“Are you sure you won’t come back with us?” I asked him.

“Out of my territory, man. You should seriously consider convincing your friends not to go back. It’s only a matter of time before that place goes down hard.”

I decided to change the subject, Mallville has its problems, but I don’t see any risk of true disaster yet.

“So do you have any tips that I could use? I’ve only started going on the scavenging runs a couple of weeks ago.”

“I can tell. It looks like all of you are a little unexperienced,” Ash said with a laugh. I looked around to see if Maria had heard that, but she hadn’t, she was sitting at the cashier’s counter cleaning a rifle.

“So what tips do you have.”

“Kids. You guys haven’t dealt with kids before, have you?”

“I haven’t. I don’t know about the others. I’m the noob here.”

“Those two, Maria and Gerry, right?” I nodded in answer, “They haven’t. they panicked just like you did. I haven’t seen a lot of child deadites either, but enough to be wary of them.”

“They seemed fast,” I commented.

“They are fast little monkeys compared to the adults, but they go down easier. Kids’ skulls are more fragile than adults; takes a lot less to brain’em.”

“What about that fat one?”

“Now that was a new one to me too,” Ash laughed, “ I think staying the hell out of its way is probably the best thing there.”

“You seem a lot more upbeat about all this than most people.”

“Another reason to stay out of Mallville; probably full of a bunch of oh-woe-is-me whiners, right? Besides, it's a laugh-or-cry world out there. Lord knows I've got plenty to cry about; Laughter is what has kept me alive these last few months while everyone I know has died. There is humor in all things, you just need to find it.”

Ash turned to look me in the eyes, all the humor had left them, in their place was sorrow and pain. When he spoke, it was in a low voice so only I could hear it, ”When it all started, I was just some normal guy, working a normal job at T-Mart. Three of those foul things came in on that first afternoon, but we stayed open. We tried to keep everything going as normal as possible for those first four days; directive from home office; I imagine its the only time a company memo ever included the phrase 'removing the head or destroying the brain'. It's very surreal to go to work everyday knowing you may have to decapitate a former customer.”

“On the third day we lost contact with the home office, and we could not reach our DM on the fourth. With Mister Seras, the manager, having been on vacation in Hawaii when this all started, Tom, the Assistant manager decided to close up the store.”

“Some of my co-workers... my friends, decided they were going to try and wait it out there until the government showed up to save us. I couldn't do that, I had to go home to my mom, and my sisters. My mom worked at the hospital as a nurse, and of course the hospital was damned epicenter of it all, wasn't it? She had been bit on the first day, just on the hand, they cleaned and bandaged it because no one knew that it was infectious at that point. She must have been one of the first ones to turn....”

“She called in sick on the sixth day because she was feeling sick. My sisters and I took care of her, but we thought it was the flu or something. Eight days after it all started I woke up, opened my bedroom door, and found that the last part of my old life was gone.”

“The house was a mess, it was kind of like someone had ransacked it. I went to my mom's room, and found her bed empty. I went to my sisters' room, and found...” he stopped for moment here, taking a few deep breaths, ”and found that mom had got their first. They never closed their door at night; the only reason I'm alive now is that I did.”

“I found mom in the kitchen, just standing there. Blood all over her face and nightgown, she must have died during the night. I killed her with a frying pan.”

“I found my sisters trying to walk through the front door. Mom had tried to eat them. Becky's throat had been torn out. Mel looked like her neck was broken, and her pajamas were torn around her arms, like she had been trying to defend herself. They charged me when they saw me. I couldn't believe how fast they moved. They knocked me off my feet, and part of me wanted to let them take me; make me like them. I ended up throwing them off though. I killed Becky with a table lamp, Mel with the fireplace poker. Do you understand now why I cannot be responsible for anyone else? Why I choose to be alone?“

“Yes,” it was all I could say.

Ash's eyes flickered again, and the crazy came back, covering almost all of the pain. He laughed softly, ”You know, you're the first person I've told that to? You're practically the first person I've talked to in months, first person who was actually there anyway. It feels good.”

He turned towards the others, and spoke more loudly, “Well, it's getting kind of late, so I should probably get going. Thank you for the meal, it was certainly the most unique meal I've had in months.”

Gerry walked towards us, “It's dark, don't you want to stay here tonight?”

Ash made a disbelieving sort of sputtering noise, “No, I've got a bed waiting for me, and I want to get a fresh battery in ol' Excalibur here,” he said, patting his chainsaw.

“Thank you for your help today. You're out here more than we are. Is there anything else you could warn us about?” asked Maria.

“Well, you guys obviously know about the Hell's Postmen gang, other than that, the best advice I can give you is to get the hell out of Mallville. That set up cannot last. Other than that, stay away from the police station and hospital. The hospital is absolutely crawling with deadites.”

“Why the police?” asked Sharon.

“Last time I was that way, which was probably like a month ago, the cops were still in there, and they shoot at anything that moves, they even took a shot at me. I don't know if they're still there, but those bastards are crazy.”

Gerry locked the Snacky Mart's front door after Ash was outside. When he was at the edge of the street he turned back and gave us a cheery wave, and then disappeared into the night.

I have kind of kept to myself since then, sitting alone in the stockroom. Ash gave me a lot to think about. How much is he right about?

I feel exhausted, Time to try and sleep.

Tomorrow we go home.

Fifty Pages And Counting

Entry number twelve now brings Mallville across the fifty page mark. I know this is not a major accomplishment, but I'm proud of it. My goal is to get Mallville somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 pages, and given how much some of my ideas for this have grown (the last two or three parts were originally all one much shorter part in my mind) from what I originally envisioned them as, I see this as doable, even if it takes a year or two more at the pace I have been going at.

I cannot do this alone though, I need your help. I know there are at least a couple of people out there who will read this, and I need feedback from you. There are three reasons I need feed back:

1.This is only the first draft of Mallville, and I know it is very rough (hence the picture in the newest entry). I need your feedback to help me make it better. Have I screwed up my continuity? I've been trying hard not to; I have pages of notes and a timeline written out showing me who, what, and when, but I know I am bound to screw it up eventually, if I've not already. If you spot an error, let me know so I can fix it. Do you see an issue with something I've written? Constructive criticism is welcome (Protip: “You Suck!” is not constructive).

2.I have been known to grow bored with, and stop working on, stories. Keep my ass motivated by letting me know you are out there. I am not asking you for money here, just a few minutes of your time to let me know that I am not firing all of this off into a void (no pun intended).

3.I have an ego, and it needs feeding. Stroke my ego so that it may grow to Scott Sigler-like proportions.

If you want to do something more for me aside from just letting me know you are there, then let other people know I am here. Tell your friends. Print out entries and leave them in odd places for people to find. Burn it to a CD, and leave it in your school's computer lab. Use your imagination, the sky's the limit, just don't do anything illegal, and don't sell it.

If you have been reading for awhile, I thank you. If this is your first time here, I hope you enjoy your stay. I hope to be doing this, as well as some side stories if I ever get far enough ahead of my posting schedule, for some time to come.

Thank you,

Twelfth Entry: On Fire, Under Fire

July 22nd

Well, it was smoke that I smelled. I pocketed this journal, and took my candle with me back into the room with Sharon and Jimmy. The smoke was not coming from there, but as I came in, Sharon must have smelled it too.

“What’s burning?” Sharon asked me.

“I don’t know, but we better find out,” I replied, thinking that whatever it was, it was unlikely that a firetruck was going to show up to put it out.

Sharon got up, looked out the window to see if she could see the source of the smoke, and grabbed a couple of small LED flashlights from the table. She tossed me one of the lights, and we headed out, leaving Jimmy by himself in the room.

I let Sharon lead he way since she was bound to be much more familiar with the hotel than I was. She led me to a staircase, and then down to the first floor. “Wouldn’t we get a better view from a higher floor?” I asked.

“We would need to go room to room all the way around the building to see everything outside. From down here we can see all the way around the building easier,” Sharon explained to me.

I had never been in the Hotel Majestic before, and the lobby was quite a sight even in the dark. The stairs let out next to the elevators, and the narrow beams of our lights illuminated the large open lobby of the hotel which was starting to fill with smoke. A few large brown dead potted ferns, and a shiny black piano were the only furniture left in the lobby, the couches, chairs, and tables were all piled in front of the glass double doors that led to the front door and out of the hotel as well as in front of the front windows. Orange light was flickering through the gaps in the furniture barricade.

“Shit!” cursed Sharon, as she ran forward.

I followed Sharon, arriving at the barricade a step behind her. We both looked out in horror, all we could see was flames. The front doors had been broken, and flames filled the little airlock area. The glass on the doors between us and the airlock were actually on fire themselves, doused with some sort of fuel.

Sharon moved to one of the front windows, again having to peek through the makeshift barricade,” The whole front of the building looks like it’s on fire. We need to go now,” she told me.

No shit.

Even in the shadows cast by our lights I could see the terror in her eyes, and why not? This had been her sanctuary for weeks, and now is had burst into flames, and surely not spontaneously.

She led me past the abandoned front desk, and the elevators, and down a wide hallway. On each side of the hallway were banquet rooms, four in total, it looked like but she paid no attention to them. She led me to the back door, which had also been barricaded, but with furniture from the banquet halls. Dining tables and chairs were piled almost to the ceiling. This really must have been hard work for her, since I’m sure Jimmy couldn’t help with the lifting.

Looking through the gaps in the pile of furniture, I could barely make out the Oldsmobile sitting there under the moonlight. The coast looked clear, no zeds, no people, no flames. I suppose had we not been panicking at the thought of being burnt alive, Sharon and I might have realized we were being led this way.

“Please tell me you have the keys to that car,” Sharon half-pleaded.

I quickly patted my pants pockets until I felt the key ring in there, “Yeah, I have them.”

“Then let’s get Jimmy and get out of here.”

We ran back up the stairs, Sharon in the lead, and back to the room. Sharon opened the door to the candle-lit room with the key card again (battery powered lock maybe?), and burst into the room.

“It’s time to leave, Jimmy!” she half yelled, rushing into the room, and throwing open the closet door. She pulled out two large dark blue backpacks, the kind you use for hiking, and tossed one to me,” Load up what you can.”

Sharon and I quickly set about filling the packs up with ammunition, food, bottles of water (and I’m pretty sure I saw her stuff some mangas in hers), and anything else that seemed useful, fit, could be grabbed in about two minutes, and wasn’t too heavy to carry.

I grabbed my Mossberg and slung it over my shoulder where it sat awkwardly against the backpack. I saw Sharon sling a rifle over her shoulder, and double check that her hand-cannon was still on her hip, seeing this made me double check for the presence off my Beretta.

Jimmy had gotten to his feet, and was propped upon his crutches with the shotgun that had been on the bed with his hanging off of his shoulder. He looked at the same time pissed and pitiful, like he wanted to be a lot more helpful than he was being.

We rushed out the door into the dark hallway, and back to the stairs. As the beams from our lights cut through the darkness, we could now see some smoke seeping into stairwell. The fire was spreading.

Jimmy was having real difficulties hobbling down the stairs, and after about half a flight Sharon and I rushed back up to him. We each grabbed one of his arms and half carried/ half dragged him down the stairs. I thought briefly about how lucky we all were that our situations were not reversed; Jimmy is not a big guy, but between our packs and our panic we still struggled getting him down those stairs. If it were the two of them having to drag my fat ass down the stairs, we would have all burned to death.

Covered in sweat and panting, we emerged from the stairwell into the lobby, which was now filled with flickering orange light. The fire had gotten through/under the front doors, and the furniture barricade was starting to catch. We turned away from the front door and rushed to the pool access door.

Sharon and I did not wait for Jimmy, we ran to the barricade of dining furniture, and began pulling pieces of it down, and tossing them to the side. What must have taken Sharon hours to put up took the two of us maybe two minutes to take down.

Pulling a ring of keys from her pocket, Sharon quickly began trying them in the lock on the doors. There were probably 10 keys on the ring, and I think she finally found the right one on the 8th attempt. She flung the doors open, and we all rushed (or hobbled in Jimmy’s case) into the cool night air. I had not realized how warm it had been inside until that point, but some of that may have been from the growing fire.

As we started to move across the pool area, and towards there car there was the sound of glass breaking and a whooshing noise. An orange glow erupted from the Oldsmobile as flames sprouted up from the front of the car as well as the ground under it, and on the roof of the car. Someone had just thrown a pair of Molotov cocktails onto it.


Suddenly noise filled the night as a half dozen motorcycles and a large truck's engine rumbled to life. Light blazed through the night as all of their headlights (except for the truck, which had been backed in) came on. The truck and two of the bikes were to our right, blocking the alleyway where it opened out onto the street. The other four bikes were to our left continuing the line of the fence across the alley, blocking off any escape through the back of the hotel. How the hell had we not heard them drive up? It's not like there's a lot of traffic noise anymore for them to have blended into,

We were trapped; the only way out the back was through the gate and into the alley full of bikers. Going back through the front was not an option due to the large fire no doubt started by the bikers to chase us out the back and into a trap.

“Well good evenin',” called out a voice with a slight Southern accent over the rumble of engines,” Lovely night for a bonfire, ain't it?”

As my eyes adjusted, I could make out eight figures in the alleyway, four on each side. The voice had come from one of the two by the big flatbed truck. I noticed on the back of the truck was a large cage, but a this point I couldn't make out too much of it.

The biker who had spoken stepped forward, towards the burning car,”It seems like you've got yourself a little choice to make here. We could just gun you down right now, but that seems rather unsporting, what with us being able to fill you fulla holes before you could even get your weapons up, and you having no cover and all. Your friends at least had a chance to fight back an' all,” he said, sounding almost wistful, “Or, you could just put down your weapons, and come quietly.”

“Why are you doing this?” yelled Sharon, “Why would you attack us? We should all be working together, not attacking each other.”

“Well aren’t we just a little naïve?” replied the biker.

“What did we ever do to you?” Sharon tried again to appeal to his non-existent humanity.

“You stole from us. This is our city now, and you people in the mall need to understand that if you overstep your bounds, you’re gonna pay for it.”

“What a load of crap! You’re working for Kaur, aren’t you?” called out Jimmy, wobbling a little on his crutches.

“Well I just have no idea at all who you’re talkin’ about,” replied the biker mockingly. All of the bikers broke out in derisive laughter,” Okay, enough Q and A; make your choice. Drop your weapons and come with us, or we shoot ya now.”

With such great choices, what could we do? I slipped the backpack off of my shoulders, and lowered it slowly to the ground, following it with my rifle.
As I removed by handgun from its holster, Sharon hissed at me, barely audible over the rumble of the engines,”What are you doing?”

“I did not come out here just to see you get shot in front of me. Maria, Gerry, Redd, and all of the others did not lose their lives just so you could lose yours,” I replied.

“They’re going to kill us anyway,” replied Jimmy.

“Then we need to think of something, but getting shot right here and now isn’t it..”

“This isn’t a movie; no one is going to show up at the last minute to save us. The guns are the only leverage we have.”

“There are more of them, and they have better gun. We do not have any leverage.”

“You just got us killed,” spat Jimmy, and slid the rifle off of his shoulder, it clattered to the ground.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” stated Sharon, her eyes glistening with forming tears as she shed her pack and weapons.

Of course I had no idea what I was doing. I had no plan other that to stay alive as long as possible, and pray for a miracle.

“Smart choice!” called out the biker,” Now come out of there with your hands to the sky, pool party’s over.”

We moved towards the gate leading to the alley. One of the bikers to our left moved away fro his bike, and opened the pool gate for us, all the while pointing a very ugly looking automatic rifle at us.

“Go to the truck!” yelled the biker who was apparently the mouthpiece for the others.

As we walked closer to the truck, I got a better look at the cage. It was huge, covering the entire back of the truck. It was really two cages, a smaller one, and a bigger one. The smaller one reminded me of the airlock at the front of the hotel, its intent was clearly to separate one prisoner from the rest of them, although three people could fit in it at once.

The larger cage took up the bulk of the truck's flatbed, and it was big to hold at least a dozen people, more if you really packed them in. It looked something like this:





Yeah, I know, my drawing skills suck, but it’s dark out here, and I don’t exactly have a drawing desk handy. In any case, it still probably gives you a better idea than my description did.

At this point I did not realize what this cage was meant for, but I suppose the long poles with the loops on the end (the looked like an extra large version of the poles animal control officers use the keep dangerous animals at a distance) that were mounted on the side should have been a hint.

At the back of the truck was a staircase that was hinged to the bottom of the cage in front of the door. As we approached, a biker with a red bandana on his head lowered the stairs, and then stepped off to the driver's side of the truck, and slid the barred door open. It slid open towards him like the door to a prison cell door, sticking out from the side of the truck.

Sharon went up the steps first, helping Jimmy come up behind her. I went last so in case Jimmy fell I would be able to catch him. When we were all inside the smaller of the two cages, the bandana'd biker slid the door shut, which sounded, to me at least, an awful lot like someone closing my coffin.

To say that the cage smelled is an understatement; it reeked. It smelled like death, or undeath as may be appropriate. It was at this point that I realized that this was used for capturing zombies. The poles with the wire loops on the end were for wrangling the zeds without getting in biting distance of them since the undead do not take the threat of being shot terribly serious.

“What are you going to do with us?” yelled Sharon, she was trying so hard not to cry.

“We're gonna take you home to meet mom!” replied the leader. This was met with laughter from the other bikers who were now all gathering together near the back of the truck since we were no longer even a token threat to them.

The lead biker started again, “We’re probably gonna use the chink and the lardass for zombie chow, but you, little miss, you were gonna let live... for awhile anyway. Or we might see how you do in unarmed combat with one of the zeds-,” the biker never got to finish his thought, as his face exploded at that point.

I never heard the shot that did it, and neither, I imagine, did he. Seeing a living person get their head taken off is very different that seeing a zed get their head splattered. The colors are so much more vivid on a living human, not the dark greens, grays, and blacks of a zed. Even in the limited light, I could see the bright red of his blood, the gray of his brains (who knew he actually had any?), and even the pinkish white of blood-covered bone spray through the air in slow motion.

Time stopped as the faceless biker seemed to stand there forever, as if pondering what witty thing to say to us next. I swear that even the engines of the truck and the motorcycles stopped during what must have only been a second, maybe two.

When his body finally took a stagger-step forward, and finally fell to his knees, and then to the ground, it was like someone flipped a switch, and time started again. The bikers started to bring up their weapons. There were a couple of cracks from rifles, and a blond biker with a pair of sunglasses on his head grabbed his throat as blood erupted from his neck, and a black biker with cornrows spun off his feet clutching his right shoulder.

I heard one of the biker's yell 'Who the fuck is shooting at us?” as he and a couple of the remaining bikers started firing wildly into the night.

Wanting the not feel helpless and exposed in the back of a truck, I took decisive (ly stupid) action. The red bandana's biker had frozen with his hand on the bar that would lock the cage door in place, not having actually locked us in yet. I grabbed the cage door, and shoved it open as hard as I could. As I hoped, the door caught him in the side of the head, and knocked him off his feet.

Had the remaining bikers not been busy shooting into the darkness and getting shot themselves, I'm sure this stupid action would have earned me a quick and painful death at the barrels of their guns, but they were too busy to worry about the three off us. I leapt down the stairs, and Sharon practically shoved Jimmy down the steps onto me before bounding down them herself.

Being just as panicked as the last couple surviving bikers, we ran for front of the truck this being the direction that gunfire was not coming from.

“They're getting away!” yelled the biker who I had hit with the cage door. Apparently the knock to the head broke him out of his frozen terror, as he had gotten to his knees, and raised a very vicious looking little automatic weapon towards us.

The biker fired at us, and I felt pieces of pavement hit the backs of my legs as we ran/dragged Jimmy towards what we hoped was safety. His gun fell silent, and I chanced a look behind me to see him laying on the ground, and the tire of the truck next to him rapidly deflating..

As quickly as it had started, the gunfire ceased, and now only the sound of engines filled the night again. The whole thing must have only taken ten or fifteen seconds, but it sure seemed a lot longer than that.

Sharon, Jimmy, and I hid in front of the truck, making ourselves quite visible in the headlights, but hopefully keeping the bulk of the truck between us as the shooters. At this moment all we knew for sure was that they were not friends of the bikers, but that did not mean they were our allies.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Sharon kept repeating under her breath.

“What do we do now?” I asked to no one in particular.

“We hope whoever did that is friendly and that they show themselves before all that noise attracts a shitload of zombies to us.” replied Jimmy. So we just stayed in front of the truck, peeking around the side towards the war zone behind us.

Another eternity later, and two figures appeared in the headlights of the motorcycles blocking the alley. One was thin, and one a little thicker; the flames from the burning car making them nothing more than silhouettes. They split up, and started walking from body to body, and shooting them again with handguns when they were satisfied with their work. They started towards where we were hiding.

“It's safe, you can come out now!” called a deep cartoony voice.

“Gerry?” asked Jimmy.

“The one and only,” replied the voice.

Jimmy hobbled towards the figures, using the truck to hold him up, as his crutches were laying up in the cage. The figures came closer to us, and when they became fully visible in the headlights of the motorcycles, we could see it was Gerry and Maria.

“You guys are alive!” I exclaimed, as Sharon and I moved forward to catch up to Jimmy.

“Good thing too, since you three were marching willingly to your deaths.” replied Maria, but she smiled a very tired smile.

“Is there anyone else?” asked Sharon.

Gerry shook his had slowly,” No, they killed everyone else. Maria and I ended up retreating to the manager’s office when Josh got shot. There were a lot of them. We gave good as we got, but we were outnumbered.”

“We failed, and everyone paid for it,” contributed Maria, devoid of her confidence for the first time in my presence.

“You saved us,” said Sharon, putting a hand on Maria’s shoulder.

“We couldn’t have the mission be a complete failure, replied Maria with that weak smile again.

We looted the biker’s corpses as quickly as possible, made sure they were all sufficiently dead so that they would not get up again, turned off the motors to the bikes and truck (we could probably go back for the remaining fuel later if the hotel fire didn’t claim them), grabbed the supplies we had dropped by the pool, and then got out of there. Among us, only Maria and Jimmy knew how to ride a motorcycle (and Jimmy was really not in any condition to), and the flat rear tire on the truck made using it impossible as a means of escape, so we walked as fast as we could. Somewhere out there was bound to be at least a few ghouls homing in on where all the noise had been coming from.

Maria wanted us to get far enough away from the Majestic so that if the fire spread, we would hopefully not get caught in it. She also wanted to make sure we were far enough away in case any other members of Hell’s Postmen decided to come looking for their missing buddies.

It was slow going, but after about an hour (an undead free hour, thank God) Maria said we were far enough, and we took shelter in a gas station. After a meal of warm soda, chips, and candy bars, we decided to camp out for the rest of the night.

Maria wanted to take first shift as guard, but we all insisted she rest. I’m on lookout duty now. I don’t know if the others are all asleep in the little store or not, but I’m up on the roof keeping a watch out for anything on two legs, or two wheels, but about the only thing I can see right now is the light from the burning Hotel Majestic in the distance. I wonder how far that will spread.

In the morning, we will figure out what to do. I’m not sure if we will even be going home. I miss my bed, but I will gladly give up everything I owned just to know that Sharon is safe.

Playing for Keeps

No, I'm not posting a new entry early, this is a totally off-topic post (sorry to dissapoint both of you). The reason for this post for anyone who happens to stumble upon it is to talk about another story.

Mur Lafferty is quite possibly the hardest working woman in podcasting, she is/has been connected to virtually every podcast I listen to on a regular basis, but not only is she a podcaster, she's an author. Last year she released the podcast novel "Playing For Keeps", a superhero tale about a woman who just wants to run her bar in peace. The novel was, and is, available in a serial podcast format as well as having been released in PDF format, and now it is being released as a trade paperback.

Now I know what you are wondering, "what's in it for VOID?", well immediate, but the possible rewards are long term. I do not know Ms. Lafferty, and she certainly has no clue who I am, but the reason I care is because she is doing something that I hope to do somewhere down the road (no, not work hard), she's making a run at the Amazon.com charts when her book comes out on Monday, August 25. The more authors that succeed at taking non-traditional avenues toward publishing, the easier and more likely it is that someone like me can do it in the future.

I listened to PFK back when it came out, and have been listening to all the tie-in stories that have been coming out as the release draw near, and it's a really good story. If you have not checked out "Playing For Keeps" yet, I suggest you do so this weekend, and then on Monday order yourself a copy at Amazon.com if you liked it.

While you are at it, you should check out some of the other free audio novels out there on the net. JC Hutchins' "7th Son" trilogy, Scott Sigler's "Nocturnal", and Chris Lester's "Making The Cut" are all great stories, and they are all free.

I would like to join the ranks of these podcasting gods someday, but the only way my shiftless self will stay motivated to do it is if I see people like them succeed, so do me a favour, and order your copy of "Playing For Keeps" on Monday, August 25th, thanks.

Eleventh Entry: ...And Bad News, And Good News, And Bad News

July 21st

Okay, now that I’ve had "dinner", where was I?

So there I was on the roof, trying to figure out how Sharon was getting in and out (I was assuming the whole time that she was indeed coming and going from the hotel, which in hindsight was kind of stupid of me). Entry was eluding me.

I checked out the large pieces of machinery, thinking that if they were air conditioning that maybe I could get into the ventilation system (it works in the movies), or if they were for the elevators that I could maybe gain entry to the elevator shafts. I couldn’t find anything, or at least nothing that did not require me to have some tools.

I examined the skylights again, and saw that they did in fact open. There were large rusted hinges at the apex of the skylight’s slope. They did not look like they had been opened in years, and I could not see anything like a ladder for getting up and down from the skylight, but maybe Sharon just didn’t leave it set up when she was not using it.

After ten minutes of trying to pry open each skylight I considered another option; maybe she isn’t using the skylight as an entry point. I then considered just breaking the skylight, and jumping down, after all, it’s not like the zombies could get up here and get in that way themselves. Then I considered what I would do if I impaled parts of myself on broken glass, and needed to be rescued myself.

I finally decided that the roof was not the way in, and that there must be another entry point. This means climbing all the way back down the ladder, exposing myself to any zeds that might happen to look in my direction (assuming that they can even see that far), and searching around again for a way in.

Before descending the ladder, I looked down to make sure that there were no hungry ghouls waiting for me at the bottom. I saw nothing threatening down there, so I started my descent, cursing my stupidity the whole way.

As I was passing the second floor the window on my right got my attention. There was no screen on it, and it was just slightly ajar, only about a half an inch. How did I miss this? I guess I was just so determined that the roof was the way in that I wasn’t even looking for anything else.

I leaned sideways on the ladder, and hooked my fingers into the opening of the window. The window slid open quietly and easily, and I pulled myself through, sliding to the floor face first with a thud.

I found myself in a hotel room. It was a nice, but basic; queen size bed, bedside tables with lamps on them, an digital clock radio with a blank face, a phone, and armoire which presumably contains a TV and maybe a mini-fridge, a table, a couple of chairs, and a dresser. The carpet was a slightly lighter shade of beige than the building itself, and the bedspread was one of those nylon (polyester?) jobs that every hotel, no matter how nice it seems, has, this one had a wild flower pattern that looked sort of out of place in such a basic and dignified room.

I let myself out into the hotel’s hallway, which had a deep red industrial carpeting, and was quite dark with no windows to let light in. I tried to catch the door to the room I came out of as it closed, but wasn’t quick enough I was plunged into darkness, and I would need a keycard to get back into the light (do those even work without power? Are the solar panels on the roof enough to power the system?).

I pulled my handgun from its holster at my waist, and started moving slowly down the hallway. I would much rather have been using my rifle as a comfort, but I was keeping one hand on the wall as I walked.

The hallways seemed endless, my hands slid over wall, and over doorways. I tried each door I came to, hoping one would be unlocked so that I ccould get some light into the hall. At one point I ran into a table, knocking the vase of long dead flowers and a telephone to the floor. The noise the vase made as it broke was deafening in the silent darkness.

I moved across to the other side of the hallway from the table, and my hands came into contact with the cold metal of the elevator doors. For laughs, I found the buttons to summon the elevator and pressed them. Nothing happened of course.

The whole time I was creeping through the pitch black, I was wondering exactly what sort of an idiot I was to have forgotten to bring a flashlight. I should have grabbed one of the headlights out of the van before we split up. Oh well, live and learn, right?

In the darkness I heard a noise. I brought my Beretta up, and pointed it in the general direction of the noise. It sounded like a heavy door opening, and then closing. I could hear the hiss of one of those hydraulic door closers as it shut.

My mind panicked, what if a zed was here in the hotel with me? I couldn’t see to fight it off if there was. I thought about shooting, and hoping I could spot the thing in the flashes. It was a stupid idea, but I was all out of good ones at the moment.

I thought I could hear it moving, coming closer. I heard the sound of something metallic shifting. Was it armed like the one outside? It surely could not see me, but could it smell me? Hear my heartbeat? Hear my breathing? Was it stumbling around as blindly as I was, or was it coming right for me?

Then it spoke my name questioningly.

Suddenly it was on me, its arms wrapped around me, pulling me to it. Something hard hit me in the face as it brought its face to mine. The hard object slid away from its face and thumped softly on the thin carpet. It brought its mouth up to my face, and kissed me full on the lips. I was quite frankly shocked. It is a moment that will live on in my mind as long as I live.

“It’s really you! I knew Alex would send you guys to get us!” squealed the woman’s voice. Sharon’s voice.

“Sharon?” I asked stupidly.

“Well it’s certainly not Jimmy.” She replied.

Sharon pulled away from me, and a small but incredibly bright light bloomed in front of me, cutting away the darkness around us. Sharon was holding a small LED flashlight in her hand. She bent down to retrieve the object that she had hit me in the face with, causing the flashlight to project her shadow onto the ceiling.

Even in this light, I was struck both by how beautiful Sharon is, and how much I’ve missed her. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a pink t-shirt that probably would have been too tight for her when she left Mallville, but it looked like she had lost some weight in her time away. She was not really skinny to start with, but she was getting there now.

On her hip, Sharon was wearing a large revolver, like something out of Dirty Harry. When she stood upright again, I saw that the object that had been on her head was a set of night-vision goggles,” Where did you get those?” I asked, motioning to the handgun and the goggles.

“Sports store across the street. It’s not a T-Mart, but it has enough stuff in it to survive for awhile as long as no one else comes to loot it. So are the others outside?”

“It’s just me,” I replied.

“What do you mean ‘just me’? Alex sent you alone?” her smile faltered.

I’m sure I have no reason (or at least no right) to be jealous, but why does she keep mentioning Alex? I told her I would come get her; shouldn’t I get some of the credit for this?

“Yes and no. Kaur said we couldn’t waste the manpower to save you, so we worked out a plan for a run to go past here. Once we get Jimmy to the car, we’re going to meet the others at the Bianco’s a couple of blocks away. We’ll all go back as one happy family, and Kaur won’t be able to do shit about it,” I explained.

Her smile returned,” Sounds like a plan. Let’s go get Jimmy then.”

Sharon led me around to the side of the hotel she and Jimmy had been hiding out in. She let us into a hotel room with a keycard, so I guess the solar panels must be enough after all. Entering the room I was greeted by the sight of Jimmy Chen sitting on one of the room’s two queen size beds pointing a shotgun at me, a book casually sitting open on the bed next to him.

Upon seeing that it was me and Sharon coming through the door, he put the shotgun down on the bed next to the book,” Are we being rescued at last?” he asked cheerfully.

Jimmy looked well, but I noticed what looked like the handle of a hockey stick being used as a splint. The piece of wood was fastened to his right leg with a number of Ace bandages. I figure that Jimmy has probably been on that bed most of the time since they got to the hotel.

“Yup,” I replied.

I looked around the hotel room; it was basically the same as the one I had entered through except that it had two beds, and the gaudy bedspreads were gone, leaving just rumpled blankets and sheets. The room’s table and chairs had been moved to the window, and on it were bottles of water, and pouches of freeze-dried foods as well as some plates, cups, and silverware, presumably all appropriated from the hotel’s kitchen. There was also a police scanner and a powered-down laptop computer with a cable running from it across the floor to the wall jack under the writing desk.

On the floor between the beds were a stack of books; camping, hunting , and survival books probably taken from the sporting goods store, but also paperback novels and even a few mangas in the mix. There was also one of those wind-up emergency radios with the built in flashlight, and a couple of boxes of ammunition of different types. There was also a pair of crutched leaning against the nightstand with its disused phone and alarm clock blinking “12:00” over and over.

Over on the room’s dresser it looked like something out of a Punisher comic. Every inch of space was covered with boxes of bullets, handguns, a couple rifles, and large survival style knives (you know, like the kind Rambo used). Leaning against the dresser was a hunting bow, and a couple of pouches (quivers?) of arrows.

“Looks like quite the cozy set up,” I commented.

“It’s not much, but its got running water, and some electricity; we call it home,” replied Sharon as she quietly shut the door.

“Not anymore we don’t. Let the others in so we can get out of here,” said Jimmy, sliding to the edge of the bed and grabbing his crutches.

“There aren’t any others,” I said somewhat sheepishly.

“You came on your own?” asked Jimmy

“No, Alex sent him,” commented Sharon, again talking as if I had nothing to do with this.

“Hashmir said no rescue, so the main group is going on to a scavenging target. We’re going to meet them there, and act like we just happened to pass by here on the way back and pick you guys up. What’s Hashmir going to do once you’re already back inside Mallville?”

“Have us shot?” Jimmy asked in reply.

That sent chills down my spine because it was at the point that I realized that Jimmy did not know about Sara yet. I know someone would have to tell him eventually, but that didn’t mean I meant to volunteer.

“That’s ridiculous,” snapped Sharon.

“Is it? He sent those bikers after us.”

“You have no proof of that!” replied Sharon, and even though I thought Jimmy was right, I said nothing to contradict her. I didn’t need to.

It was at the point that the police scanner on the table crackled to life, reminding me that I had stupidly left my walkie talkie in the car. Mikhael’s Russian accented voice coming through, “I think we may have a problem guys, there’s a group of motorcycles coming up the street towards us.”

“Towards us, or just in our general direction?” responded Gerry McElroy’s distinctive cartoon voice.

“I’m going to say towards us, they’re about two blocks away, and approaching fast,” ask Mikhael finished speaking there is a firecracker pop before he released the talk button; a gunshot.

“Get back in here now!” cried Maria’s voice.

“They’re shooting at me!” yelled Mikhael.

“I see them! There’s at least a dozen of them!” called the voice of Karen Hummingbird,” They’re splitting up. Some are going around the side of the building, the rest are coming to the front!” this statement was punctuated by a rapid series of pops and the sound of shattering glass,”They’re shooting!”

“I’m hit!” shrieked Mikhael.

“Olivia, Daryl, Redd, take the front of the building,” ordered Maria,” Gerry and Josh cover the back door with me. Stay in the building, do not let them lure you out! Stay behind cover!”

“They’ve got fucking Uzis or something!” yelled Redd Waxman, the sounds of more gunfire coming through with his voice.

“Olivia’s down!” yelled Daryl MacGuire.

“Shut up and fight!” commanded Maria.

“Someone help me!” came a pained shriek that I barely recognized as Karen’s voice. More gunfire came through the speaker of the police scanner, but no more words.

After a few minutes the gunfire stopped. A couple of minutes after that the signal from Karen’s walkie stopped; There was just silence after that. It was over.

That was about seven hours ago now. The sun is down, and the power from the solar panels is gone. I am sitting in the hallway outside of Sharon and Jimmy’s room writing this by candlelight.

Sharon made dinner with the hotplate before it got too dark, according to the bag it was Swedish meatballs, but I think that is debatable.
We thought about just getting back to the car and heading for Mallville, but we don’t know if the bikers are still out there looking for us. Could they know the plan? They knew where we were supposed to be going, or was that just coincidence? Could Hashmir Kaur, a mall security guard, really have sent a group of bikers to murder us all?

Sharon does not believe that Kaur could be behind this, but Jimmy I sure of it. Sharon has not been around for the last few weeks, she does not know about Sara, or about that woman in the park. I know she's wrong, but I don't want to get in a fight with her about it.

This is not how this was supposed to happen. This was supposed to be simple; I was supposed to swoop in, save Sharon and Jimmy, and we would all go home victorious. Instead of celebrating back at the mall, I’m sitting here in a dark hallway writing this, and pretty much everyone I’ve come into contact with since lunchtime is dead.

I need to figure out what our story is when we do get home. How do I explain not being killed by the Hell’s Postmen? How do I explain the car not even being damaged? I guess we could maybe take one of the cars in the parking lot, maybe whoever owns them left the keys behind.

I’m going to sleep on it… on the floor. Sure I could stay in one of the other rooms, but I think we should all stay together. Maybe that’s just me being afraid. Maybe it’s just me not wanting to be away from Sharon so soon after finding her again. That’s pathetic.

I smell smoke.