Z Children (Book 2): The Surge (22 page)

The
grocery store was when it all started, at least for me.

I
wrote for a long time, until my eyelids dropped and I fell asleep on the
shelving unit inside the moving truck. The rumbling of the engine, the tires
against the road thumping methodically, Chris and Gin’s soft breathing below
me, I’m surprised that I didn’t fall asleep sooner. But I managed to fill five
or six pages with everything that had happened. So far.

It
couldn’t have been long, my time asleep on the hard shelf, before I was awoken
by the vehicle pulling to a stop. I kept my eyes closed for a while. I heard
nothing for a moment until Gin’s voice floated to my ears. It was shortly
joined by Chris’s. And then they were arguing, so I kept my eyes closed and I
tried to snore convincingly a while longer until the din wore down and I heard
JW’s door open.

“He
needs that booster and meds sooner rather than later, Virginia. You sugarcoated
it.”

“I
know.”

They
didn’t need to say anything more. That simple back-and-forth of conversation
was enough to scare the shit out of me. I couldn’t lose JW. I knew,
emotionally, losing Gin would be hard; Chris I could live without; but JW and
Ranger? Somehow, I knew that would be harder than losing even my own father.
Funny how a bond can form so quickly, how we sometimes choose our family and
stumble across a connection, even at the end of everything normal.

***

JW

We
stopped for the night south of Alexandria, Louisiana in the middle of bum-fuck
nowhere. Basically swamp land. Not an abandoned car in sight, not a structure
or Z or even a powerline. It didn’t really matter, the absence of obvious
danger, since we weren’t leaving the vehicle. If something wanted at us bad
enough, the truck wouldn’t stop them.

Nothing’s
around here. Nothing. Nothing getting in the truck. Nothing
. I shook my
head. My thoughts weren’t coming in crystal clear. They were starting to get
murky. That made me feel more out-of-control than the body soreness.

I
looked out the windshield again, checked the side mirrors, glanced at the
rearview camera display. Still nothing.
We Should be farther than we are;
made terrible damn time. This isn’t where I wanted to stop.

Now I
was more concerned with just making it to Atlanta instead of hoping to make it
in good time. I hadn’t told the women that I was planning on taking a detour
either. I knew what the response would be—they’d be pissed. Justifiably so, if
I was being fair. That was why I hadn’t even mentioned New Orleans when they’d
asked me about some of the other passenger destinations listed on the paperwork
from evac site I’d explored. You’d think they would have caught on when I’d continued
along I-49 rather than taking side roads eastward, but women and directions are
like oil and water. For the most part. I’d once trained with a gal who could
have tracked her way out of any situation blindfolded.

That
was my kind of woman.

What
had really slowed us down were the numerous “tinkle” breaks.

Tinkle.
The word grated on my brain like nails on a damn chalkboard.

Virginia
had said she needed to ‘tinkle’. And then Bonnie was saying it. And then Chris.

I
honestly hadn’t known that women had to pee so much, but it probably wasn’t
completely their fault. I’d been insisting that we all stay super-hydrated. We
had ample bottled water; if we broke down or got caught in a bad situation and
had to leave the wheels behind, then we’d start out in the best physical shape
we could. So, my bad really.

But
shit, it seemed like every time I got into the rhythm of driving, one of them
needed to piss. I released my fingers from the steering wheel and flexed them,
keeping my palms against the hard plastic and the truck on the road. Each
knuckle cracked blissfully and I nearly groaned with the release of my joints.

I
could let the slow time roll off my back, it didn’t matter so much. I was just
sore, tired, everything hurt. I didn’t need the doctors to tell me that I
needed meds now. My body was screaming at me—rest, medicate, rest.

God,
everything is so damn raw, like my nerves are sitting barely below my skin and
they’re on fire.
I didn’t think we were in danger of a Z attack, but if
something did hit us, for once, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to protect
everyone. As if my thought had traveled from my brain to Ranger’s, the tired
dog lifted his head from his paws. His eyes met mine and there was assurance
there.

It
wasn’t just me doing the protecting. I wasn’t alone. My brother had my back.
We’d be okay.

“Go to
sleep, Ranger. You need it.”

He
growled, an unhappy grumble that repeated my words back to me—minus the Ranger
part.

“Yeah,
yeah. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“That’s
about as dumb a statement as you’ve ever made, and that’s saying something.”
Chris’s grating voice struck my ears like a jackhammer.

I shut
the engine off and turned around to see Chris making her way from where she’d
been resting on the floor. Virginia and Bonnie were asleep; I could see one of
the notebooks still clutched against Bonnie’s chest.

“You
need to sleep.” Chris plopped down into the passenger seat.

“Yeah?
Who’s gonna take watch? You?” I wanted to infuse my words with sarcasm and
salt, but I was feeling to piss poor to manage much more than moderate
disbelief.

“I’m
rested. I’ll stay awake.”

I
didn’t want to trust her. But, God, I was so tired.

“Stay.
Awake.” Again, I wanted to be stern. And all I managed were two breathed out,
half-formed words as empty as a plastic bag. She didn’t even respond.

I
stood, let her fumble her way to the driver’s seat so she’d be ready if we needed
to make a quick getaway, and then I took the passenger’s. I leaned back as far
as the seat would allow—which wasn’t enough to get comfortable—and planted my
boots atop the dash. When I was settled, Ranger jumped onto my chest and, with
one full circle, laid down, his body stretched from my waist to my knees. His
head was nestled on his paws and the soft thrum of his snoring was the sound
that finally lulled me to sleep.

Throughout
the night, every now and then, I’d snap awake at a movement and growl from
Ranger. Maybe he’d been chasing Z’s in his sleep. The few whimpers that
followed his growls didn’t instill much confidence in his dreamscape killing
prowess, though.

When I
wasn’t being awoken by my sparsely-furred partner, I was living through a
series of my own terrible dreams. I woke up at first light with a stiff arm, an
even stiffer neck, and the greatest urge to piss in the universe. It was
painful.

Sitting
up, I looked for Ranger—realizing the weight of his body was no longer against
my own. He was there, staring back at me, his eyes communicating the same need
to take a leak as I was experiencing. I realized that neither of us had gone
for near ten hours. That had to be a record, and it also meant that I’d been
keeping the girls hydrated, but not myself, which was stupid.

Looking
over at the driver’s seat, I saw Chris slumped over the steering wheel, a line
of drool trailing from the corner of her mouth.
See, that’s why I don’t
fucking trust you, woman.

“Morning,”
Virginia’s voice greeted me just as I grabbed my rifle and started opening the
passenger door.

I
looked back, pausing—which made Ranger huff in frustration. “Morning. How long
has princess drool been asleep?”

“A few
hours. She woke me up first, though, so that someone would be on guard.”

Had
to give her points for that at least.
The voice in my head was begrudging.
The brain fog had cleared a bit.

“Should
have traded places. You’d have lost precious seconds having to wake her up to
drive if the shit hit the fan.” I couldn’t help getting a dig in so she’d
remember who knew more about surviving and facing danger. She just nodded
absentmindedly and that made me want to lecture more, but I resisted the urge.
“I need to take a leak. You okay?” I finished opening the door. Ranger launched
over my lap and hit the first clump of discolored grass he found.

“Fine.
I need a turn after you. Bonnie’s still asleep. She’s woken up once since I’ve
been up. Cried a little, but I patted her back and she closed her eyes again. I
can’t imagine what this all must be like for a kid.”

“Kids
sometimes respond better to things going bad than adults do.” I looked at
Chris, my eyes narrowing into slits.

I
exited the truck before Virginia could say something else or before I could
remark on how Bonnie was more capable than Chris. Sure, it was true, but I
didn’t want to incur female wrath before my morning constitutional. Wasn’t good
for the psyche. I was lucky my implying glance at Chris didn’t immediately get
Virginia’s back up.

I’d
left just in time. Princess Drool was groaning in the first throes of
wakefulness.

The
stream of urine exiting my body seemed to last a lifetime. I hadn’t eaten
enough for my bowels to want a turn, so I walked away from the wet puddle I’d
created on the ground and stood for a while taking in the early morning. The
last threads of dawn, the pink fingers of it, were disappearing from the sky.
The cool humid air of the bayou filled my nostrils, stinging slightly in a
pleasant ‘I’m alive another day’ way.

I
couldn’t help thinking, as I stood waiting for Ranger to finish shitting, what
a beautiful place this would be if it wasn’t for the imminent threat of those
killer kids.

Ranger
ambled up to me then and dropped to his haunches. I was about to ask him what
was on his mind when I heard the distinct report of a shotgun. Too close.

Way
too close.

“JW…JW,
what is it?” Virginia had the passenger door open. She was standing up on the
running board so she had a clear view of me.

Another
shot.

Even
closer.

“JW!”
a whispered squeak now.

“Get
back in the truck and lock the doors. And get armed.”

“But,
JW, wh—”

“Back.
In. The. Truck. Get. Armed,” I bellowed the words one at a time so she’d get
the damn point. There wasn’t time for questions. We had less than a minute at
best.

Ranger
was on his feet now taking point; the front part of his body was a fraction
lower to the ground in a protective stance. Shots meant danger and we both knew
it. I unslung my rifle, checked the mag, and jacked a round in.

We
stood and listened like so many times before.

Waited
and listened.

Listened
and waited.

Sounds
of an enemy?

Or
sounds of a friend?

When
you’ve been on the battlefield often enough, all gunfire begins to sound like
the devil. A few minutes passed. And the wait was over; the thrum of a truck
engine. Ranger heard it first, of course, perking up and looking down the road.
I snapped my fingers and pointed to the nearby brush. Ranger knew what to do;
we had done it before. If there was going to be a fight, Ranger was the ambush
and I was the bait.

The
combat dog didn’t hesitate and took his position just inside the bushes—making
him completely invisible. I didn’t need to see him to know that he was tensed
and ready to face mortality. Or—more likely—force someone else to face their
mortality.

 A
pickup. Old ‘78 maybe ‘79 Dodge by the looks of it was careening down the road.
I guess the driver wasn’t worried about a DUI with what was happening in the
world. It was lifted to a ludicrous height with tires so large you could turn
one on its side and make a hot tub. Two men were sitting up front, three in the
bed. Country boys with country guns and country attitudes. Perhaps ‘country’
was too generous. Rednecks—and obviously proud of it—just out having some fun
shooting up road signs.

Two
beer cans sailed out of the bed of the truck and plunked onto the pavement.

Rednecks.
Beer. And guns.

Now
isn’t that the trifecta from hell.

For
their sake, I hoped all they were interested in was a good time being jackasses
in the middle of an apocalypse. There were always those sorts. The idiots, the
devil-may-cares that survive only to continue being useless wastes of space. It
boggled my mind here now and back in war how so many good people could be
snuffed out in a blink, but bastards like this could survive a second coming.
Fucking roaches. Nothing would kill them.

Except
maybe me.

I kept
the M-16 pointed at the ground but discretely flipped it to auto. The muscles
in my forearms flexed of their own volition which caused a chain reaction, a
ripple of preparedness that touched every part of me—from fingertip to toe. As
I stood watching, the Dodge slid to a poorly-controlled halt twenty feet away.

“What
the hell are you doing out here?” the driver drawled, leaning out the window. A
stream of chewing tobacco spit followed his speech. It didn’t fly far, only a
few inches, and then it was sliding slowly down the camo paint job. The trail
it left made it look like the vehicle was crying; it, an inanimate object, was
intelligent enough to realize the defunct nature of the humans it carried.

“Taking
a morning piss. What you boys up to?” I watched as the three in the bed stood
up to look over the cab. Two shotguns and an old Winchester. Like I predicted,
country guns. The passenger’s door swung open and a tall man climbed out. He
was at least six inches taller than me with a scattergun and a pistol on his
hip. He seemed different than the others—less drunk for one. Intoxicated or
not, he wouldn’t be able to draw that pistol in time. Ranger would see to that.

“Hunting
zombies mostly, but we’ll shoot anything worth shooting,” the driver spoke
again as he opened his door and followed his passenger’s example. “That your
truck?”