Morning came on slowly, like someone was pulling me out of a warm bath. I rubbed my eyes to the sound of someone banging on my metal cot. I opened them, and there stood a boy of about five foot eight. He was a pudgy child, with a sloping forehead. He hit the side of my cot with a plastic toy soldier.
“Can you stop that?”
“Travis, what?”
“Stop it. I’m tired, man.”
“Travis, what?” His words were slightly slurred, and when I looked up, he was rolling his eyes up in the back of his head, looking at the ceiling and then back at me. Just what I needed. Some retarded kid to wake me.
The kid wandered off, bumped into another cot, which brought a cry from the inhabitant. Still staring up at the ceiling, he ran off. I lay back, put my arm over my eyes, and breathed in the smell of people again. It was a long time since I had been around anyone, and now I was surrounded by them.
I sat up after a few minutes and rubbed my eyes. Glancing at my watch, I found it was close to seven in the morning. Others snored while I got up and used the bathroom, suspecting there would be a line later on. I was greeted by several people on the way, but others just glanced up at me then looked away. Some had haunted looks in their eyes; others just looked unfriendly.
I looked out for the woman I had met the night before, but I didn’t see her. She was probably in a tent with one of the men. Someone like that would be very desirable, and I envied the man she slept next to every night.
I ate another bowl of gruel-like food that filled me up, but didn’t taste so hot. The cook had put some effort into spicing it up, but I knew I was eating dog food again. There wasn’t enough paprika in the world to change that. I spent the day with Thomas and a tough-looking man named James, who had a scar running across his nose from cheek to cheek. They headed to the weapons cache and I followed along, hoping to get a look at their arsenal and maybe borrow a decent gun. Borrow? Who was I kidding? I would probably die before I had a chance to return it.
They looked over the weapons, and I noted, out loud, that they weren’t properly taken care of. James scoffed, but Thomas glanced my way, then took down a handgun and gave it to me.
It was a Baretta 92F. The weapon was a standard military pistol with interchangeable parts. I stripped it in a couple of seconds, breaking it down enough to peer into the chamber. They seemed impressed. Thomas asked me to take a look and let him know how bad the damage was.
We went over the guns, and I pulled out assault rifles and inspected them. No one had done a proper cleaning, so I took the worst of them, stripped them, and cleaned them. People stopped by and looked on from time to time. Perhaps it was being back in a civilized setting after being alone for so long, but I found the company of others comforting. However, I chose not to engage anyone in conversation for very long.
I took an AR-15 from a rack, inspected it, took a box of shells, and went outside. The morning was chilly, and I thought I could smell rain in the air. The clouds hung around, keeping it generally gray. Around the fence, the ghouls wandered, snarling and running at the barrier but stopping short. I saw a few zombies as well, and when they chanced upon a ghoul, or got too close, a fight broke out.
I climbed up on the back of a truck with a flat bed. A lot of the other trucks had been outfitted with metal plates where holes were cut in the side for firing ports. Spikes hung on them—short sharp things that wouldn’t provide much grip if a ghoul tried to climb up, but would discourage them.
My Honda had been parked in a different spot and now sported new tires. No one asked me about my car, and I really didn’t care. The old world was gone, just like my two-hundred–and-fifty-dollar a month car payment.
I stood up, inspected the gun, loaded it, and then put the stock against my shoulder. It had a scope to provide some magnification, but it wasn’t intended for long-range work. I sighted down it, tracked one of the zombies, and then stroked the trigger. He fell, wearing the same stupid look on his face that he had before the 5.56 round entered his forehead.
I got used to firing the weapon again and, in the process, attracted a few onlookers. I dropped a couple more zombies, then went for some faster-moving ones. One jerked to the right as I shot at him, so I only ended up taking off part of an ear.
I packed up the gun and ammo and turned to the store, intent on cleaning it and putting it back. There were about thirty or forty of the things, and they howled and snarled as I turned my back on them, so I held up one hand and gave them the finger.
Throughout the day, I had thought of Katherine and her lithe body. I wanted to work out with her, but more than that, I wanted to talk. Just talk. I wanted to know more about her.
At last night fell, and we locked up the guns. Thomas said he had a feeling about me, so he gave me a key to the armory. I felt honored and almost hugged him.
I went to the workout room that night around the same time, and went a few with the same dummy Katherine had gone at. She didn’t show up, even thought I waited for close to an hour. So I called it a night and showered with the bucket of water.
The next day was much the same, except I talked to more people. The retarded kid, Travis, wandered by a few times and stared on while drool ran down his face. He looked none too bright, and I wondered why anyone had bothered to save a kid with such issues. I actually stared at him for a while and had a philosophical debate with myself. If he were changed, would he still be a zombie with mental retardation?
I tried to be useful. I went outside and checked over my SUV. It was in the process of being modified. A mechanic with a terrible face wound looked at me and mimed that he couldn’t talk. Then he stared at me. I assumed he was waiting to see if I would flinch or look away from his wound. Instead, I shook his hand and told him my name. He seemed to think that was okay. He shrugged and went back to work, welding a piece of metal in place.
There was some activity toward the front of the gate. Half a dozen men were gearing up, and a large flat bed truck was being moved near the entrance. The walk was brisk thanks to the early morning air. Most of the parking lot was wide open. On a normal day, back before the proverbial crap hit the fan, this place would have been buzzing with activity.
A burned out half strip mall was inside the perimeter. I made out a check cashing place and a coffee shop. My mouth flooded with saliva at the thought of a fresh cup. I could just about kill for one right about now.
A couple of men had guns at the ready. They were going over their load as I strolled up to them. I was impressed by their decorum. They were smiling, but they knew their way around their weapons.
One of the men, I was pretty sure his name was Daniel, nodded at me. He checked up on me when I was cleaning up the weapons inside. Asked a few questions about an automatic I was working on. I thought he was just checking me out and not really interested in my answer.
“Going hunting, guys?” I asked.
“We got a call—just a half message really. A few streets over, west of here. We think some survivors were trying to reach us and got trapped in a house.”
I was feeling pretty useless around the camp. Everyone seemed to have jobs but me. I wanted something to do. More importantly, I wanted to prove myself to them.
“Want some help?”
They looked back and forth, but not at me. I was probably intruding on a group that was used to working together. They didn’t know the first thing about me. I might get spooked at the first sight of blood. I might demand to go back. I could run off, for all they knew. All the training in the world might have been under my belt, but it meant nothing until I had proven myself.