suck it up and keep it together.
We all got out of the van and Sarah climbed over the console into the driver's seat. The guys each checked our guns and ammo, then Matt checked Melissa's.
"You know how to use that thing, right?" I asked, looking at Melissa.
"Yes, I grew up on a farm, thank you," Melissa replied. "It's just been a while."
"Oh God, well just don't point it at me and we'll be alright," I said, cracking a smile in an attempt to lighten her mood.
I watched as Matt and Rob trotted south on Route 222 toward the pawn shop, hopeful that they'd return with a bounty of guns and bullets. Disappointed that I'd been given the task of babysitting Melissa, I shook my head and turned to face the Royal Farms store. I gave Melissa a nod and we walked slowly toward the store.
Much like the rest of the town, the Royal Farms appeared undisturbed. The gas pump handles sat neatly in their holsters on the pumps. There were no cars in the parking lot, although the lot looked like it extended around the building. Nervous that we might walk in on someone, or some thing, I tapped Melissa on the shoulder and held up a hand to indicate she should stop.
Walking past Melissa, I peered in through the glass doors. Nothing moved. Nothing caught my attention. The entire store looked like it could be open for business, if not for the whole infected, rabies, zombie thing. I tapped on the glass with the Beretta. I waited. Nothing jumped out from behind a counter or shelf. I'll consider that empty enough.
I pulled the door open slightly, listening for one of those welcome bells that some stores have at the entrance. Hearing nothing, I pulled the door the rest of the way and stepped inside with my gun at eye level, ready to fire. Melissa grabbed the door before it shut, but I held up a fist, again telling her to stop.
Quickly and quietly, I checked down each of the three aisles and behind the counter. Confident that the place was vacant, I waved Melissa into the store.
In the back corner of the store was a display of bottled water. Sure as hell beats river water. I grabbed two cases, 24 in each and nodded for Melissa to do the same. We walked the cases to the van and returned. I made another trip with two more cases. Melissa grabbed all the beef jerky and Slim Jims she could hold and followed me back to the van. The third trip into the store, I brought a backpack that I'd emptied onto the floor of the van. I filled it with cigarettes, lighters, batteries and some more beef jerky. With my free hands I grabbed five of the large Gatorade bottles. Melissa carried four cases of chocolate bars.
As Melissa and I unloaded our largess into the van, Sarah stated that she had to use the restroom and sauntered toward the store. Matt and Rob were nowhere in sight, so I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the backpack, unwrapped the cellophane and sparked my first smoke since Tuesday. Just as I settled back to enjoy the rush of nicotine to my brain, a scream erupted from the Royal Farms.
I threw the cigarette to the ground and sprinted toward the sound of terror, still booming from the store. Reaching the door, I threw it open and stepped inside with the Beretta aimed high. To my right, Sarah was fighting with the bathroom door, attempting to keep it shut against the weight of an infected on the other side. Sarah used her foot as a doorstop and her full 110 pounds to push back. Her face was turned to the left, looking straight at me.
Sarah's eyes were pleading with me to help, as her shouts did the same. Her face was filled with terror. Every time she reached her hand for better leverage or shifted her weight to prevent sliding backward, the infected would gain half an inch on the door. I had to act fast.
All I could make out of the infected pushing against her was a bloody right hand grasping in the air. I had no idea what I was dealing with on the other side of that door.
"Alright, Sarah," I said with authority. "When I say go, you're gonna jump
We all got out of the van and Sarah climbed over the console into the driver's seat. The guys each checked our guns and ammo, then Matt checked Melissa's.
"You know how to use that thing, right?" I asked, looking at Melissa.
"Yes, I grew up on a farm, thank you," Melissa replied. "It's just been a while."
"Oh God, well just don't point it at me and we'll be alright," I said, cracking a smile in an attempt to lighten her mood.
I watched as Matt and Rob trotted south on Route 222 toward the pawn shop, hopeful that they'd return with a bounty of guns and bullets. Disappointed that I'd been given the task of babysitting Melissa, I shook my head and turned to face the Royal Farms store. I gave Melissa a nod and we walked slowly toward the store.
Much like the rest of the town, the Royal Farms appeared undisturbed. The gas pump handles sat neatly in their holsters on the pumps. There were no cars in the parking lot, although the lot looked like it extended around the building. Nervous that we might walk in on someone, or some thing, I tapped Melissa on the shoulder and held up a hand to indicate she should stop.
Walking past Melissa, I peered in through the glass doors. Nothing moved. Nothing caught my attention. The entire store looked like it could be open for business, if not for the whole infected, rabies, zombie thing. I tapped on the glass with the Beretta. I waited. Nothing jumped out from behind a counter or shelf. I'll consider that empty enough.
I pulled the door open slightly, listening for one of those welcome bells that some stores have at the entrance. Hearing nothing, I pulled the door the rest of the way and stepped inside with my gun at eye level, ready to fire. Melissa grabbed the door before it shut, but I held up a fist, again telling her to stop.
Quickly and quietly, I checked down each of the three aisles and behind the counter. Confident that the place was vacant, I waved Melissa into the store.
In the back corner of the store was a display of bottled water. Sure as hell beats river water. I grabbed two cases, 24 in each and nodded for Melissa to do the same. We walked the cases to the van and returned. I made another trip with two more cases. Melissa grabbed all the beef jerky and Slim Jims she could hold and followed me back to the van. The third trip into the store, I brought a backpack that I'd emptied onto the floor of the van. I filled it with cigarettes, lighters, batteries and some more beef jerky. With my free hands I grabbed five of the large Gatorade bottles. Melissa carried four cases of chocolate bars.
As Melissa and I unloaded our largess into the van, Sarah stated that she had to use the restroom and sauntered toward the store. Matt and Rob were nowhere in sight, so I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the backpack, unwrapped the cellophane and sparked my first smoke since Tuesday. Just as I settled back to enjoy the rush of nicotine to my brain, a scream erupted from the Royal Farms.
I threw the cigarette to the ground and sprinted toward the sound of terror, still booming from the store. Reaching the door, I threw it open and stepped inside with the Beretta aimed high. To my right, Sarah was fighting with the bathroom door, attempting to keep it shut against the weight of an infected on the other side. Sarah used her foot as a doorstop and her full 110 pounds to push back. Her face was turned to the left, looking straight at me.
Sarah's eyes were pleading with me to help, as her shouts did the same. Her face was filled with terror. Every time she reached her hand for better leverage or shifted her weight to prevent sliding backward, the infected would gain half an inch on the door. I had to act fast.
All I could make out of the infected pushing against her was a bloody right hand grasping in the air. I had no idea what I was dealing with on the other side of that door.
"Alright, Sarah," I said with authority. "When I say go, you're gonna jump
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