Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) (11 page)

O'Connor had no illusions. Most of the world
hadn't made it twenty-four hours during the initial outbreak.
People hadn't believed, or even wanted to believe, it was possible
for actual zombies to exist. Hell, Jake had only believed due to
following a pair of police officers into a carrion house of a
Quickie-Mart. He'd stood there open-mouthed as two officers of law
and order had put down the creatures feasting on the store’s owner.
They'd proven to him in no uncertain terms that, regardless of
official statements (or lack thereof), the dead were rising.

One of them had been Karen Parker's
father.

The cords in Jake's neck clenched when he
thought of the young woman in the hands of the raiders who'd
attacked Rae's junkyard hideaway. His group needed to find the
raider’s base of operations post-haste, and come up with a way to
get Karen back from them. If the way they'd abused Jake's best
friend Allen and the blonde-haired EMT Maggie were any indication,
time was most definitely not on their side. Luckily, when Jake's
group had rescued Allen and Maggie, they'd managed to take one of
the aggressor group captive. That had been nearly three days ago. A
cold smile spread across the writer’s face at the thought of how
Foster was surely dealing with the man.

George Foster had spent the first half of his
life in the navy, shooting and looting, running and gunning, and
basically killing Very Dangerous People for nearly thirty years.
Upon retiring, George found he missed the action of covert
operations and wetwork, so he took an assignment to run a secure
cache/safe-house/jumping off point for 'undocumented operations
against hostile infiltrating forces', as he termed them. Basically,
the aging building supervisor had been a hit man who hunted
terrorists, both home and abroad, for the United States Government.
Foster had run with Green Berets, Rangers, even SEAL teams, and had
been given only one mission: Put bad guys in the ground
before
they killed a bunch of innocent people, and do it
without making waves or anyone becoming the wiser. George had been
good at it too. So good, he'd stopped keeping track of his body
count in the early '70s. Jake had no doubt Foster would be able to
'encourage' their captive to part with some helpful
information.

Now, what condition the raider would be in
afterwards...

Rounding the lunch counter's far end, Jake
paused at the door which led to the kitchen proper, put his ear
against it lightly, and listened. He didn't hear any movement. No
shambling footsteps, no involuntary clacking together of dead
teeth, nothing. He didn't hear the dark-haired Penny rooting around
in the drawers or searching for them either. Had she even been
there yet, or had she already scoured that end of the school and
moved on? Maybe she was heading to meet up with Jerry and Benjamin
at that very moment? He had to find out. Maybe, if he was cautious,
Jake could overcome her without excessive noise. That would allow
him to double back and provide Kat with some support as she stalked
the pair above.

Readying his Hulk-sized semi-automatic, Jake
pushed the door open a few inches. There was no response from
within the kitchen, No gurgling moans and (more importantly) no
rounds from Penny's Remington came from inside, so he gently opened
the door just enough to slide through. It was dark in there, but
not so much that Jake couldn't make out the industrial-grade ovens
lining the far wall. He looked about, keeping his Hammer pistol
extended to retain a sight picture, and saw nothing. No movement
anywhere. There were a pair of freezers over to the right of the
ovens and a door leading out on the far side of the room a few
paces closer. Jake moved quickly to the door and quietly latched
the deadbolt. He'd clear the freezers first (wouldn't do to have
any stray zombies coming up behind him as he continued on after
Penny), then move on to the next room.

Upon reaching the first freezer door, Jake
put his ear to it and closed his eyes. There. Something in the
freezer had quietly bumped into the wall. A pair of low moans,
along with the soured blood all over the floor in front of the
freezer entrance confirmed its occupants were no longer among the
living. He picked up a meat thermometer from the nearby counter and
quietly slid it into the latch. The creatures inside had been there
for some time without opening the door, but Jake was damned if he'd
rely on their lack of cognitive abilities. Who knew? Maybe one of
them might accidentally bump the door plunger inside, it would pop
open, and he'd end up with a few dozen really nasty, really
painful, zombie-hickies. Right before he bled out. Then get up and
tried to do the same to anyone he encountered. Like say, Kat.
Pushing thoughts of giving Kat a hickie (among other things) out of
his mind, Jake moved to the second freezer. Upon pressing his ear
to the cool metal, Jake heard nothing. That didn't prove no one
(and more importantly nothing) was inside, though. Considering the
door for a moment, Jake decided checking wasn't worth the risk and
retrieved a Zip-tie from his vest. He passed its tip through the
handle latch, inserted it back through the one-way hoop on the tie,
and pulled it tight. That door wasn't opening from the inside now
either.

Checking his surroundings again, Jake moved
carefully past the racks of nonperishables towards the kitchen's
rear entrance. All sorts of bulk goods still remained, which he
assumed Penny and Co. hadn't mentioned to 'Her', whoever 'She' was.
The fact the trio had been hording supplies from people they'd been
surviving with for months however, in his opinion spoke volumes
about their moral character. Jake inspected a few of the shelves as
he passed. Peas, green beans, yams, fruit cocktail, chicken stock,
kidney beans, stewed tomatoes, pudding...

Christ. Who'd want to eat 112 ounces of
chocolate pudding?
Jake shuddered briefly at the thought and
crept onward.

When he reached the door, it was 'rinse and
repeat'. That was the admittedly politically incorrect phrase
Foster had used to impress upon the women to always listen at a
door when they were sneaking-and-peaking, prior to entering. There
had been some unamused looks thrown his way at that one. Along with
a few rather colorful insults about his advancing years, and a pair
of middle fingers on Laurel's part. She'd professed that living
with Kat the Ninja had made her sneakier than he'd ever hope to
be.

George had nodded and smiled amicably, then
told her to run twenty laps around the interior of their motor
pool. Jake's red-haired lover had obeyed, cursing George all the
while. Laurel had forgotten the first rule of basic training, that
being: Do Not Lip-off To Your Instructor Or You Will Pay.

Jake had won his battle against breaking into
laughter while this went on, but just barely. It had been a near
thing. In his defense, he had been a bit distracted just then.
Laurel running in a pair of fatigue bottoms and a sports bra would
do that to him.

His redhead had one hell of a really nice
bosom.

Thoughts of Laurel's more attractive
attributes fled as Jake moved stealthily through the door with
Hammer repeater leading.

Suddenly, a cold, hard piece of metal was
pressed against his skull, just behind his left ear.

“Move and die.”

The Penny woman had been waiting silently to
the left of the entrance. When Jake opened the door it had swung
out, providing her with some handy concealment, and allowed her to
come up behind him as he'd moved through into the hallway. She had
the muzzle of a Police issue, Beretta 92fs pressed against the back
of his head and her finger was definitely on the trigger.

“Uh. Hi?” Jake was at a loss.

The Beretta nudged his head. “Put the gun
down.”

“That, um, requires me moving, wouldn't it?”
he asked. “That seems like a bad plan just now.”

The dark-haired woman considered that for a
moment. “Fine. Turn it around then pass it back to me, grip first.
You try anything, and I'll show your brains some sunlight.”

“Okey-dokey.” Jake did as she instructed and
gave over the Hammer.

“Move to face the wall and put your hands
behind your back,” she told him.

Jake complied and felt a pair of handcuffs
squeeze tightly around his wrists. Penny took a grip on his vest,
turned him around, and gave him the once over.

“Where's your friend?” she asked. “The
blue-haired chick.”

Jake decided to play dumb. “I'm alone.”

Penny popped him in the mouth with a quick
jab.

“Don't play dumb,” she told him. “We saw the
pair of you coming up the road. She's here somewhere. What'd you
do, split up Plan to take us out individually?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Blood from his split lip oozed down Jake's chin as he shook his
head in an attempt to order his thoughts again. Penny might have
been attractive, but she had a hell of a left hand. Jake was lucky
she'd hit him with the fist not currently holding a weapon. He'd
have to be very careful about what he said. “I saw you guys come in
here and thought I'd feel you out. I haven't seen another living
person for almost a month now. Just those things.”

His answer earned him an amused smirk from
Penny. “Right. You must think I'm stupid or something.”

Jake shrugged. “Well, I did see the truck you
drive.”

Penny rolled her eyes and laughed, causing
her face to appear even more appealing. “You're wearing Blackhawk
tactical gear, Bates vibram-soled boots, and from the way you move
you've had some training.”

“I played a lot of paintball before the whole
zombie thing,” Jake said.

“And then there's this thing.” She held up
his Hammer repeater. “What the hell kind of gun is this?”

“I picked it up at a flea-market,” O'Connor
replied.

“Uh-huh. No dice, fella'. This is quality
craftsmanship right here. No home firearm enthusiast could produce
something like this, no matter how many reloads they made on the
weekends. This puppy took skill.” Penny turned the Hammer over,
inspected it briefly, and then shoved the hulking weapon into the
waistband of her shorts. “I'll just hold onto it for a while. Start
walking.”

Taking him by the back of his tactical
harness, Penny steered Jake back though the doorway and into the
kitchen. She wasn't quiet about it either. The sounds of their
hurried footfalls set the dead inside the first freezer Jake had
secured banging on the walls. That caused his dark-haired captor to
smile at the door.

“Go ahead and keep bitching, you dumb shits.
You'll never get your teeth into me. You five are gonna rot in
there.” Penny kept them moving towards the cafeteria. “Shouldn't
have tried to oust Rebecca. That's what you get.”

“Who's Rebecca?” Jake continued into the
eatery.

Penny slapped him across the back of his
head. “You just keep moving. And shut up. You're the moron in
handcuffs here.”

Jake frowned. “Just asking. Jeez.”

“You want another shot in the mouth?” Penny
demanded as they crossed the cafeteria and entered the hallway
beyond.

Jake shook his head and sighed. “You were a
cop before all this, weren't you?”

“Now just how the fuck would you know that?”
Penny demanded, roughly jerking him to a halt in front of the high
school's trophy case.

“Careful observation,” he replied glumly,
“And the fact you act like an over-aggressive bitch when someone's
cuffed and can't fight back. That's pretty much trademark Bad Cop
behavior. You might as well be wearing a cheap suit and smoking
off-brand cigarettes like every extra in a low-budget gangster
move. Ever.”

For a moment, Jake thought he'd pushed the
woman too far. Penny shoved him back against the trophy case and
put her Beretta against his throat.

“And
you
might want to curb that
flapping tongue of yours before it gets you into even more
trouble.” She did not look pleased with Jake's opinion of her
personality.

Jake was unimpressed. “More trouble than
being handcuffed by a lunatic in a wrecked building, while there
are zombies everywhere? You're kidding right?”

“You think we don't understand what's
happened? That we're just a bunch of small-town hillbillies looking
for whatever we can get?” Penny asked.

He thought about that for a second. “Pretty
much.”

“Thought so. You know exactly jack.” Penny
smiled. “Let's go collect the boys and get you back to the
homestead, 'pardner'.”

“Please do. The crap-tastic Western movie
dialogue is killing me.”

Penny chuckled darkly and shoved Jake towards
the second floor stairwell. “Keep going and stay quiet. There could
always be a zombie or two in here. Where do you think the ones in
the freezer came from?”

“Outstanding.” Jake started clomping noisily
up to the second floor, making as much noise as he could on his way
for two reasons. One, to alert Kat that something had gone wrong
and he was in it up to his eyeballs again. Two, in the hopes
Penny's pair of companions upstairs didn't have itchy trigger
fingers. It would suck if they got spooked, jumped the gun, and
riddled him with bullets.

Shit,
Jake thought,
now I'm the one
using bad Western dialogue. So much for my degree in
Journalism—58K, straight down the crapper. I should've been a
dentist...

Ben and Jerry hadn't seen hide nor hair of
Kat, as it turned out.

Jake smiled at that fact as he rode in the
back of Penny's eye-sore of a truck. For whatever reason, the
ninja-girl hadn't relieved them of their heads while he'd played
Twenty Questions with them in the lobby. During their brief
questioning the writer stuck to his story that he was alone, which
caused the walking Bad Hair Day named Benjamin to become a bit
irritated. Terrible haircut aside, the mullet fan was adamant about
Jake's blue-haired companion being “hotter than a new Caddy in the
projects.” That prompted Jake to share an unamused look with Penny
as Jerry laughed at his friend's poor joke.