The McClane Apocalypse: Book Two (38 page)

When they are squatted at the end of one of the food aisles with nothing but a corner wall to their backs, he taps her shoulder again. John points to his watch, and she leans over to look. He can tell by the expression on her face that she’s also surprised that the time has flown by, the day almost over. His stomach growls loudly, and he shrugs which makes Reagan half smile and roll her eyes. He signals for her to follow him as he makes a straight line for the back of the store where mass storage of overflow is kept on tall metal shelving units even bigger than the ones on the shopping floor.

They come to the doors leading to that area, and John listens before he pushes one open. Reagan follows cautiously and silently behind him as usual and stays on his hip. It’s clear that this part of the store has also been looted and is in maniacal disarray, boxes and items spilled and lying everywhere. It’s also darker in the storage area and considerably more macabre.

He doesn’t care to search forever here but wants to find a safe place to stop to eat with her and, most likely, force her to eat. She follows dutifully as he goes down an aisle and searches left and then right for signs of life.

When he is sure they are alone, John whispers to her, “Climb up again. We’ll take cover up there and rest a minute.”

Reagan hands him her rifle and climbs, takes both rifles from him when she gets to the first wide metal shelf and waits patiently while John climbs up to join her. He scans the area all around them again. They aren’t all that high, about the same height that she was when she hid from her would-be accosters at the Depot. It’s only about eight feet from the concrete floor, but the vantage point is good and gives them a view of the back doors, both man and vehicle delivery doors, and the entrance from the store through which they’ve just passed. There is a half empty skid of toilet paper beside them- not exactly good for cover- and Reagan takes two rolls and stashes them in her pack. A pallet of car batteries is behind John at his back, and to his right is another pallet of toiletries, including deodorant. Reagan grabs six women’s antiperspirants, eight men’s deodorants and three surplus packages of razors. John settles in beside her on a piece of plywood where she kneels on both knees. She looks like a kid, which is somewhat alarming. Her face seems so expectant, nervous, unsure and trusting of him to get her back home. He’s never seen Reagan like this.

John unpacks the bag, takes out two bottles of water and pours the vitamin packets into them. He hands one to her which she reluctantly takes with a scowl. Next are the sandwiches of peanut butter with some sort of jam that Grams has packed for them and granola bars wrapped in tin foil. It’s the exact kind of food that they both need to keep them going, but Reagan refuses both food items.

“You need to eat something, boss. You can’t go all day on nothing. Come on, eat. Man or very small woman cannot survive on Skittles alone. Don’t make me eat alone,” he says being playful, and she glares at home but accepts the sandwich and granola bar.

They eat quietly for a while until John remembers a nagging question which has been bugging him that he meant to ask her a while ago.

“When you came to the city the first time with your grandpa, he mentioned that you were a good shot. Did you shoot someone?” he asks, and she stops chewing for a moment.

“Yes,” she answers softly and resumes eating her sandwich. She doesn’t expound.

“And? What happened?” he prods, and she looks up at him with a frown and then back down at her sandwich.

“Just some junkie that wouldn’t leave us alone; thought we had drugs or liquor or anything he could rob us of. He pulled a knife on Grandpa, so I shot him in the gut. Had the silencer on so it didn’t draw any attention which was probably fortunate. We left, so I don’t know if that guy died or not. But that was the only thing that happened when we came. And it was at night. It seemed like the druggies came out at night, so we split right after that,” she explains.

“I’m glad you didn’t hesitate...”

“I did,” she interrupts. “That’s how he grabbed Grandpa. If I hadn’t hesitated, then he wouldn’t have had the chance to grab him. But luckily it worked out and he wasn’t hurt.”

She’s so hard on herself, her harshest critic by far because John actually thinks darn near everything about her is perfect, even her fuller top lip.

“You’re a really brave woman, Reagan McClane,” he praises as she just shakes her head subtly and looks away from him.

“No, I’m not at all. I’m not like Derek and Kelly and sure as shit not brave like you. Everything scares the hell out of me, actually. I just want to help my family. It’s not like Hannie or Sue could’ve come. And I want to be able to do something to help, not sit around and wait for help to come. I’m not like that,” she explains. John chuckles softly. No kidding.

“Well, whether you think it or not, you are brave. Braver than a lot of the men out there trying to survive this crap,” he tells her, and she looks away again with a shrug. “Hey, I forgot to cover something with you about the silencers. If we get into a gunfight, take it off. The silencer is only good if it’s being used when you want to be covert and quiet. In a firefight or a retreating firefight it’s best to remove it and make as much noise as possible,” he explains as he finishes his sandwich. The thick cut, homemade bread hits the spot, and he notices that Reagan has wrapped hers back up, only having eaten half at best.

“Really? How do you know that?” she asks all inquisitive and knowledge hungry as usual.

“Kind of my job, don’t ya’ think? Actually there was a study done, and some of the vets from the Vietnam War helped to prove the idea. Making a lot of noise during a firefight can be confusing and intimidating for the enemy. Retreating silently isn’t intimidating to the enemy, and they will continue to advance on you if you suppress your weapon. Loud and intimidating, kind of reminds me of someone I know,” he mumbles the last bit, and she pouts at him, making him want to try to kiss her again.

“You studied that kind of history to be in the Army? Sue told me you didn’t go to college. She said you were just a lifer in the military,” she asks. Hm, interesting. She’d talked to Sue about him?

“Yep, all I ever wanted to do. No college for me. I just like studying that kind of thing, though. Ever since I was a kid I liked reading anything on military history and battles, strategy, weapons, all of it. Plus, supposedly the more you know about history the less likely you’ll be to make the same mistakes, blah, blah, right?” he jokes. She snorts quietly through her nose.

“Yeah, supposedly. What a bunch of bullshit that philosophy turned out to be,” she answers right back.

He’s noticed she’s done eating and makes no move to finish her granola bar. He’s already polished off his own, enjoying the sweet, dried fruit and pieces of chocolate that Hannah or Grams had added. He only wishes he could find a giant bag of chocolate chips somewhere in this warehouse, but the drug addicts probably raided it first when they ran out of their sense-dulling medicines of choice. But she does hand the granola and the half sandwich to him to put back in the front pocket of the pack along with most of her water. John spies rainbow-colored candies in her other palm. When he takes the water from her, his fingers close completely around her hand, and he holds it just briefly before releasing her. Reagan refuses to look at him and studies the steel support beam near her hip instead.

“Just sit a minute while I re-pack these bags. I don’t want to smash any of the electronics and wires. So let me just fix this junk before we go. Hand me your pack, too,” he instructs and she does as he says.

John immediately starts moving heavy items from her pack into his own and transferring lighter things into hers. When he opens the small zip pocket located on the front of her bag, he pulls out an even smaller black leather pouch and opens it.

“Hey, put that back,” she whispers with urgency.

“What’s in it?” John asks as he reaches in and takes out a hypodermic. She gives a frown of defeat, takes the needle from him and the pouch, zips it and places it back in the front pocket of her backpack.

“Morphine. In case one of us gets hurt or... something else,” she explains and looks away quickly.

“Is there enough in that syringe for... that?” he asks warily, not sure if he wants to know the answer of getting enough Morph to be mercifully sent into the twilight of death.

“Yeah, there’s enough. Derek said you knew how to administer it in an emergency if you had to. Grandpa gave it to me, but it’s the last from our stash at the farm. That’s why we didn’t use it for my arm or your shoulder. It’s not really a local anesthetic for doing stitches anyways. Morphine is usually administered after surgery as a pain-blocker. But that’s all there is and it’s being saved for a bad... you know, bad shit,” she answers with a hard frown. John doesn’t answer but instead nods in agreement and understanding of the entire situation.

“Yeah, I know how. But it won’t come to that,” he tells her finally, looks away and starts putting everything into the bags in a more organized and more cohesive manner. “It won’t come to that.” He repeats the mantra for himself this time.

“Ready, boss?” he asks as she nods and puts a red Skittle in her mouth. “Some doctor. That’s not exactly what I’d call a healthy, well-balanced lunch.”

“I never said I was a nutritionist, duh,” she quips with a half sneer and he grins at her. “Besides, I could die today. At least I can say I had some Skittles before I went. Carpe Diem, ya’ health freak.”

He chuffs softly but feels a lump in his stomach at the thought of her dying. It isn’t really funny. He really needs to work on what is funny and not funny with her. Her sense of humor is kind of warped sometimes.

“We need to find a hobby store before it gets too dark, and then I want to use the cover of dusk to get back out of town. Do you think the horses will be ok for about three or so more hours, maybe less?” He readjusts more items in his bag, placing the heavier things at the bottom to distribute the weight better. Reagan’s pack is mostly socks and the electronic gadgets which make it lightweight- and her candy stash, of course, that weighs more than anything else she carries.

“Yes, they aren’t going anywhere, John. They’re kind of tied up, remember?” she asks snidely as she crawls toward him on all fours so that they can leave. Sometimes he’d like to punish her for her sassy mouth.

John takes one backward step down onto the first metal bar and stops because she is face to face and eye level with him, but obviously not expecting him to stop where he is perched. She jerks back a few inches.

“What are you doing? What’s wrong?” she whispers frantically.

“Nothing,” he whispers back and can’t explain to her what he’s thinking right now seeing her on all fours and practically nose to nose with him with one of her curls hanging loose from its braid. It would be so easy to kiss her right now.

“Wh... what?” her whisper is almost inaudible as she croaks on it.

“Come, I’ll help you down,” he tells her as he drops onto the balls of his feet landing whisper quiet and checking left and right again just to be sure.

The area is secure, of course, but he’s edgy from her death not-a-joke and the morphine insinuation. She hands him both rifles which he slings onto his back, together with the pack he already carries. Her arms surely must be getting tired, so he’ll carry her rifle the rest of the day for her. When he reaches up for her, she actually lets him help her down by grasping her about the waist and sliding her down the front of him where he doesn’t release her. What is he thinking? Again. Another few painful moments of this kind of contact, and he is going to have to move around the city with a full erection which will take away from his frosty edge of caution. He needs to stop this behavior and now or he’ll get them both killed.

Her small hands rest a moment on his shoulders before she steps away, putting space between them but not too much. She reaches out for her rifle.

“I’ve got it. Give your arms a break,” he tells her.

A noise in the main part of the store alerts both of them at the same time, and John nods to the back exit. It could be an animal, or it could be the new, human kind of animal this world has bred like rabbits, or maybe “Joe” has sent reinforcements for his dead friends in the Home Depot from the comfort of his posh downtown apartment. But either way, he doesn’t want to take any chances with her being with him. If he was with Kelly or Derek, they’d stick around to see who may or may not be out in the main store and if they were shopping a fantastic apocalypse sale or if they were just up to no good like raping and pillaging. But with Reagan, he’s not sticking around and potentially risking her safety.

They make no slow expedition of it and beat out of the Sam’s Club as if the gates of Hell have opened behind them. He closes the back door quietly behind them. If someone is in there, he doesn’t want to have to send them back to whatever maker put them on this earth. And more importantly, he doesn’t need to do it in front of Reagan again today. His very brand of unique talents is not impressing the girl he wishes most to impress.

He squints against the bright sunshine then takes her to the other side of a dumpster that backs up to the brick building behind Sam’s. Empty pallets rest on their right, stacked six high. The trash container is situated to their left. They are completely concealed should anyone come out of either building or from the alleyway.

“I need to find a hobby or craft store,” he whispers to her and gets a strange look in return as an answer.

“Taking up needlepoint?” she razzes, and John grins but would actually like to swat her derriere for her smart mouth. He’d like to spank her for other reasons, but if he dwells on those, he’ll never get this mission finished. Reagan points to the bookstore which has black ash crawling up the façade from a recent fire like volcanic debris has just spewed from the concrete. “I think there’s one on the other side of that bookstore across the street in a strip mall.”

John nods, and they move again together, going slowly and cautiously should any other would-be rapists, thieves or murderers be watching from the cover of any of the nearby buildings.