Swarm (Dead Ends) (5 page)

She nodded her head, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face for a split second before going back into hiding. “My daddy is dead” she repeated in a tone that seemed to accuse me of not understanding. “That man wasn’t my daddy. My daddy is dead.”

I looked at her quizzically, trying to figure out if this was a coping mechanism or if she was really telling the truth. “What do you mean, Zoe?” I asked softly.

“He wasn’t my daddy. My daddy died in Afghanistan.” She pronounced the word with such clarity that I knew she was telling the truth. “That man is mean. He hurt my mommy. He made her go to sleep and she wouldn’t wake up. Then he made me go with him even though I just wanted to stay with mommy.”

I was speechless. She kept going, almost relieved that she could finally tell someone.

“He made me call him daddy but I didn’t want to so he yelled at me. It scared me. Then he would touch me weird and make me touch him weird. I didn’t like it. I’m glad he’s gone.” She looked at me as if I somehow had an answer for her that would make everything alright.

My whole body went cold. I let out an audible gasp, as if I’d been underwater too long and surfaced quickly, acutely aware of my own mortality. I composed myself as quickly as possible. “I’m glad he’s gone too Zoe. He can’t be mean to you anymore, ok? I won’t let anyone ever do that to you again. You don’t deserve that.”

She leaned into me, her sleeves pushing up far enough to reveal bruises on her arms in the shape of handprints. I dutifully held her until she stopped crying, forcing my own emotions deeper and deeper as the helpless girl in my arms purged hers out with reckless abandon. The things this girl has had to experience in her short life I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. In any form of societal upheaval, there were things you could always count on. When rules don’t matter, human nature takes over. There would always be looters. They could be relied upon to cause havoc, selfishly seeking out things with no real value for no other reason than to get “it” before someone else does. But they’re relatively harmless compared to the kind of psychopaths who use the apocalypse as their excuse to finally live out every sick and twisted urge they’ve tried their whole lives to suppress. They could’ve managed to go a lifetime subduing those urges, playing by society’s rules and keeping their depraved fantasies just that – a fantasy that will hurt no one. But the imminent collapse of that society now makes its rules obsolete, giving perverts like Paul or whatever his real name was free reign to indulge in their sickness and force upon innocent people like Zoe the kind of perverted behavior that should be punishable only by death. That bastard got what he deserved.

“Your da-…” I caught myself, “the
mean man
said there were other survivors in here. Do you know where they are? It’s ok if you don’t” I said softly, making sure to avoid overwhelming her.

“He wouldn’t let me see them” she said, focusing her eyes on her feet as she wiggled her toes, most likely reliving in her mind over and over again what she had endured and trying her hardest to forget it. An innocence lost that will forever cease to return. “But when we first got here there was a man and a woman. They were really nice to me. I don’t know what happened to them.”

Before I could begin the search, I detected movement in my periphery, immediately making the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. A man dressed in full camouflage gear from head to toe emerged from his undeniably perfect hiding spot – a rack of waste-length camouflage coats and wading pants. I could’ve been inches from him and most likely not have detected his presence. The crossbow in his hand remained squarely trained on me as he methodically emerged from his makeshift blind.

He motioned towards Zoe while keeping eye contact with me, “Where’s the guy she was with… her father? Who the hell are you?” Zoe grasped my leg tightly once again, a show of trust not lost on me.

“Whoa, man. Listen, that guy’s dead. Didn’t you hear the shots?” With the size of the store and his location within it, I realized there was a good possibility that he didn’t. “But I didn’t kill him and that wasn’t her father, ok? He kidnapped her. He was
not
a good person.” I gave him a look as I glanced from him towards Zoe. He lowered his weapon, his shoulders relaxing as he gave me a quick nod; a nonverbal sign of understanding.

“I knew there was something
off
about that guy. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Dead eyes, ya’ know?” he said, walking closer now.

I nodded in agreement, “now more than ever, I suppose.”

He chuckled slightly before a look of guilt crossed his face as he struggled to make sense of what should be funny and what shouldn’t in a time like this.

He looked serious now, “if you didn’t kill him, who did?” He squinted as he pondered the possibilities.

“I have no idea. Shots started flying and all I was trying to do was make sure Zoe was alright. It was pure luck that we didn’t get shot too.”

After fighting for my life and surviving against an undead nightmare with at least 100 pounds on me, the thought of dying from a single bullet fired by a human being brought forth a lot of anger that I tried quickly to subdue.

“If it wasn’t for Zoe telling me where to go, I’d probably be dead too.” I put my knuckles on the top of Zoe’s head, giving her a gentle noogie, “this little booger saved my life.” A smile, big and wide, shone across her face. The first real smile I had seen her form in our short time together.

“It sounded like only one shooter” I added. “All the shots sounded the same and they were spaced enough apart that it seemed like a single person but... I don’t know I can’t be sure.” I shook my head slightly, doubting myself now. “I don’t know the first thing about guns. I was just trying to get the hell outta there.”

He was in front of us now, slowly peeling away the oversized camo vest that seemed to swallow up his torso in one gulp. He had chiseled forearms which stood in direct contrast to a beer gut still in its infancy. The shadow of a moustache struggling to take root on his upper lip placed him at about 19 years old. The coat hit the ground to reveal a standard Sportsman’s Paradise employee t-shirt, complete with name tag and glaring multi-colored logo that could make even the most fleeting of attention spans focus intently on its jumble of creatures, guns, fishing poles, and mismatched colors. Its lack of beauty was almost hypnotizing.

“The first and only thing you need to know about guns…” he began “is that they’re loud. And those…” his voice trailed off as he pointed in the direction of the main entrance, his brain wanting to use the Z-word but his still-firm grasp on reality not allowing him to do so; “Those
meatheads
out there, they like the noise because noise means food. We’re flying blind out here. The TV, the radio… they’re all down, so the one thing you need to know is to be as quiet as humanly possible and you might have a chance. The rest of the employees took the guns but they left plenty of these babies” he said, bringing the crossbow to rest on his shoulder. “There’s a pile of them over there with plenty of arrows to go around. You’re welcome to what you can carry.”

He seemed wise beyond his years. An old soul with a look in his eye that seemed to suggest he’s seen things that he hasn’t quite figured out how to explain but with time he’d be able to accept.

“Did you get a look at the guy who shot at you?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“It’s probably nothing. My dad called me before the communication lines went down and said he was coming to get me and to stay put until he got here.”

I raised my eyebrows slightly at the thought of someone else being able to rescue us, still having no idea how bad this thing really was but too scared to find out. I remained in shock at the fact that I had been so wrapped up in my own misery and despair that I failed to notice a full-on undead uprising taking place right under my nose. It made me wonder what other kinds of things I may have missed over the years. With my attention span, it was probably a long damn list.

“You think your dad would shoot innocent people? A
kid
?” I asked. “Why would he do that?” My voice was getting uncomfortably loud but I couldn’t seem to help it.

“I don’t know man. Maybe he thought you were a threat or something. He just wanted to save me and get us out of here. Plus he’s been on a cross-country run so he’s probably a little strung-out.”

He turned slightly – as if looking for a sound that was yet to happen – and I saw it. I missed it the first time but now I could see the light glinting off the nametag on his shirt that read “Welcome to Sportsman’s Paradise. My name is Ricky. How may I help you?” My heart sunk as I remembered the inscription on the knife I had taken from the rotund trucker intent on taking my life – “To Dad. Love Ricky.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.

“Was your dad a trucker?” I asked solemnly.

Confused, he looked at me, “uh… yeah. Why?” The beginnings of anger formed in his eyebrows and extended down to his lips, “how did you know that?”

I knew I had to choose my words carefully. “Your dad…” I shook my head, “he’s not coming to rescue you. I’m sorry.”

“Start talkin’ man,” he ordered. “I’m not playin’ around. How do you know that?”

“Sea-Land, right? That’s who your dad worked for?”

He nodded to confirm, anger giving way to fear, maybe even shock.

“Listen man…” I started, pausing to make sure the words came out right, “Your dad’s the reason I look like this, ok? He was a… what did you call them? A meathead. He was trying to kill me. I had no choice.” I extended my hands away and to the sides of my body, palms partially facing skyward in a gesture that was meant to reinforce my words. Zoe’s grip on my leg never wavered. I was hoping her presence would make this man think twice about going crazy on me.

I slowly removed the sheathed knife from my pants. “This belongs to you. I’m sorry.” He clearly recognized it but was hesitant to take it. His eyes welled up, tears were inevitable. He took it from me and pulled it out enough to read the inscription, which made him smile.

“I just gave this to him last year. He’s gone so much, I had no idea he actually carried it around with him” he said, his eyes glazing over as he was undoubtedly remembering better times. He raised his arms, clamping his hands together behind his head, trying to keep himself together. He lowered his hands, exhaling deeply, “Damn man, thanks. And seriously? No need to apologize. I’ve been up against a few of these things. You did what you did to survive. I can respect that. I appreciate you giving this back to me though.” He stared at the knife, no doubt remembering some amazing time that he once shared with his father, “That means a lot.”

I simply nodded. “I need to hit the bathroom, can you watch her for me?” I asked, signaling towards the sweet little girl still super-glued to the only part of my body not in pain. Though if she kept holding onto me like this, I’d have to amend that statement. I got the feeling she wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

I looked at Ricky once again, “Zoe said there was another survivor, a woman? Is she still here?”

“Oh yeah, you mean Jane. She’s in the café making sure none of the food spoils. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

I looked down, “Zoe, would you like to hang out with Jane while I use the bathroom? She’s really nice, I remember you saying that. Is that ok?” I was trying to be sweet but my bladder was about to burst.

Ricky sensed both her unease and my urgency. He leaned down and extended his hand. “Come on little munchkin, I’ll bet Jane has one of those big cookies waiting for you. As big as your head!”

Zoe smiled, “with sprinkles?” she asked excitedly.

“You bet kiddo, whatever you want” he smiled. With that, Zoe released her death grip on my leg and allowed me a long overdue bathroom break.

Ricky looked at me seriously, whispering “Listen, I don’t know what that guy is up to out there but don’t take too long in the bathroom, alright? We have the café locked down so if anyone tries to come in, we’ll be safe. The security cams are located in back of the café so we can monitor any movement from there, as long as the power stays on anyway. Here take this.” He handed me the crossbow that only a few minutes ago was aimed directly at my chest. “We’ve got more in the back.”

“Gotcha, I’ll be quick” I said and made a beeline for the bathroom, every second feeling like an hour. As I covered the twenty or so yards to the two doors somewhat cleverly marked “Bucks” and “Does” it struck me how unfamiliar with this place I was. Each dark corner held secrets that I was not privy to. A bump in the floor here, a creak in the stairs there. A sticky door hinge. Blinding overhead lights that bounce off a certain clothing rack at just the right angle to make you squint. I had no idea if these things existed. I wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing or not. Familiarity does tend to breed complacency after all. I recall reading an article one time about how a large percentage of car accidents happen within a few miles of where the victims (or culprits for that matter) live. Perhaps the things I didn’t know about this place were the very things that would save my life. My brain couldn’t afford to take a time-out.

Chapter 6

I entered the bathroom door on the right, confident in my status as a “Buck” and made my way to a bank of urinals, scoffing at their lack of privacy screens in between one another. I guess it didn’t much matter anymore. I thought back to my childhood, cheering on the Seattle Mariners inside the concrete coffin known as the Kingdome where the urinals consisted of one long trough filled with ice. There existed no clear designation for proper alignment, like a bar with no stools. A mass of feet and elbows touching one another, foreign genitalia mere inches from my own. This seemed like the Ritz-Carlton in comparison. Though with this place I was shocked not to see a urinal cake in the form of a bulls-eye. They really missed an opportunity there.

I bellied up to the urinal furthest away from the door, next to the beginning of row of stalls painted the obligatory beige that populates substandard public restrooms the world over. As I unzipped, I noticed the vent hatch above one of the stalls was unhitched and hanging open, slightly flapping in a nonexistent wind. By the time my brain connected the dots, it was too late.