Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WHAT IS NASH UP TO?
The Ashford Supercenter parking lot looked like a damn war zone.
Cars sat crooked in their spots. Doors hung open. A few still idled, even as the drivers sat half-eaten inside. Their jaws moved, and their eyes clouded over, searching for a meal that would never arrive.
Nash rolled his bike to a stop and killed the engine. The sudden silence made the place feel even worse.
Behind him, three more bikes pulled in.
Bull swung off first, stretching his shoulders. “Place looks picked clean.”
“Not all of it,” Nash replied.
A store this big always had something left.
Food.
Pain medication.
Ammo.
Stain kicked what was left of a body lying next to a broken flat screen television. “Dumbass risked his life for this?”
Rico spat onto the asphalt. “You smell that?”
Nash wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Rot and blood with something sour beneath it.
“Stay sharp,” he scanned the parking lot.
Something moved between two parked cars, and a man staggered into view. Gray film covered his eyes, a clicking sound coming out of his mouth as the deadhead lurched toward them.
Bull didn’t hesitate, as the pistol shot cracked across the lot.
The deadhead dropped, and the sound echoed across the empty parking lot as another shape moved.
And another.
Three more deadheads stumbled out from between the cars.
“Shit,” Rico muttered.
Bull fired again.
One went down, but another kept coming.
Nash stepped forward and drove a knife into its temple. The body hung there a moment before collapsing at his feet.
“Let’s move,” he slammed the heel of his boot into its head. “The shots are going to bring more, and I want to see what kind of shit is left in this store.”
The glass doors hung half open as Nash reached them. He pushed them aside. The store was dark, with only the red emergency lights burning. They cast an eerie glow over everything.
Rico made the sign of the cross, “Jesus…this place ain’t right.”
“Yeah,” Bull eyed the dark interior of the Supercenter. “This place gives me a bad feeling.”
Nash checked the pistol on his hip. “Only one rule counts now,” he said calmly.
“What’s that?” Rico asked, peering around the store.
“Stay ahead of the slowest man,” Nash smirked.
Rico and Bull each laughed halfheartedly. Neither found his words amusing, but they were too chicken shit to show a little backbone.
Stain looked at him with disgust but remained silent. He’d grown up with Beck, so he knew more than most what Nash was capable of.
Shopping carts were scattered everywhere, and the shelves were in shambles.
Boxes crushed underfoot.
And bodies.
Dozens of them.
Bull stopped beside one near the checkout lanes. “Jesus,” he whispered.
It was an elderly woman with her face and internal organs completely missing.
The store speakers crackled softly overhead. Then music drifted down through the darkness. A smooth, mellow guitar.
Christopher Cross.
Stain stared up at the ceiling. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Bull kicked a shopping cart aside. “Man, this place got cleaned out already.”
“Not all of it,” Nash said, pointing toward the sporting goods section. “Grab what you can and be quick. Mostly guns and all the ammo you can find.”
The bikers spread out.
Bull headed toward the camping aisle, and Stain moved deeper into the store toward the tool section.
Nash and Rico drifted toward the pharmacy counter, stepping carefully over a body sprawled across the tile.
Bodies lay everywhere.
Some slumped against shelves. While others sprawled across checkout lanes like they’d been trampled.
Overhead, the music kept playing.
…sailing takes me away…
Nash rummaged through bottles on the floor. “Jackpot. Painkillers.”
Rico grabbed another bottle and examined the label. “Looks like oxy.”
“Grab all of it.” Nash was shoving his finds into a bag he found on the floor. “I found some percs too. This shit will be priceless on the street.”
Rico nudged one of the bodies aside. "Damn, this is messed up.” He covered his nose with a hand. “And these fuckers smell like skunk ass.”
The corpse rolled slightly.
Then its eyes opened.
Gray.
Empty.
“Uh—”
The corpse grabbed his leg.
“Shit!” he scrambled to his feet. “He’s a damn deadhead!” Rico shouted.
Gunfire erupted in the store at that very moment, coming from the direction where the other two men had gone.
Bull fired twice at a deadhead dragging itself toward him as he was grabbing .223 shells out of the ammo cabinet.
Another body nearby twitched.
Then another.
Across the store, more corpses began to move.
Slowly.
Unnaturally.
Like puppets being yanked upright.
Stain backed toward the center aisle. “Aw hell…” He aimed his pistol and fired at a corpse moving behind the counter in the automotive department.
The deadheads began rising everywhere. Some stumbled from behind shelves. Others clawed their way up from the floor. One dragged itself across the tile with a broken leg.
“Back door!” Nash shouted as they ran. “You'd better hold onto those meds like your life depends on it, Rico!”
“I got ‘em, boss!" Rico yelled.
Boots pounded through the aisles as they sprinted toward the rear hallway.
Deadheads poured after them.
Clawing at each other, snapping their teeth, and working their jaws in anticipation of a meal.
A woman in a store vest staggered into Bull’s path. He smashed her skull with the butt of his pistol and kept moving.
Stain skidded around a fallen shelf. “Nash, there are too many!”
Gunshots cracked through the store again. The noise echoed through the empty building, and more deadheads emerged from the darkness, drawn by the sound.
The hallway to the loading docks came into view ahead.
Freedom.
Almost.
Rico turned the corner too fast. His boot caught a metal rack lying across the floor, and he slammed down hard.
The impact echoed down the hall, and deadheads turned in his direction instantly.
“Nash!” Rico shouted as he scrambled backward, trying to stand.
Two deadheads were already lunging toward him.
He reached up. “Help me up!”
For a split second, Nash stopped.
His hand moved, taking the bag of meds from Rico.
Rico grinned in anticipation of his rescue.
The grin fell, and a look of confusion covered his face, when Nash drew his pistol.
The shot echoed through the hallway.
Rico screamed as the bullet tore through his thigh.
“What the hell?” Bull shouted.
The dead piled onto him in a frenzy of snapping teeth and clawing hands.
Rico’s screams turned into choking, wet sounds.
Nash turned and ran. “Move!” he barked. “I bought us some time.”
Bull hesitated before following behind Nash, while Stain stood frozen halfway down the hallway.
For just a second, he saw Rico’s hand reaching out from beneath the swarm. Then the deadheads dragged him completely under.
Stain had bile rising in his throat as he turned to run.
They tore down the stockroom hallway toward the loading dock.
Boxes and crates littered the floor.
The rear door hung open, a cleansing breeze blowing through the opening.
A body lay just outside the doorway.
A store employee.
Blue vest.
Nash stepped over him without slowing.
The man’s name tag caught the light.
Derek.
The employee’s head twitched, and gray eyes rolled toward them.
Stain saw it as it pushed itself off the floor.
“Shit! Look out!” he yelled.
Bull fired once.
The body dropped instantly, almost in relief.
They ran through the door, across the loading dock, and into the parking lot.
Deadheads spilled out after them.
Nash sprinted for the bikes.
Stain jumped onto his and kicked the engine alive with Bull close behind.
They roared out of the lot.
As Nash turned the corner of the building, he sped like a bat out of hell, only slowing down a few miles later when a pharmacy appeared.
Deadheads packed around the entrance.
Several dozen of them.
Something inside had their attention.
Nash split his attention between the pharmacy and the van parked in front. He rode past it slowly, pulled the gun from his waist, and shot out the driver’s window.
The alarm exploded to life.
The shrill wail echoed across the lot, and deadheads turned instantly toward the sound. Surging toward the pharmacy.
A few dozen turned into swarms.
Stain stared at Nash. “You’re a real bastard.”
Nash grinned and twisted the throttle. “Yeah. But now we’ve cornered the market on meds.”
Then the bikes roared away.
Behind them, the alarm kept screaming, and the deadheads kept gathering.