The cascadia series book.., p.19
The Cascadia Series | Book 2 | World Between, page 19
part #2 of The Cascadia Series Series
Mitch holds out the tub of chocolate while we roll empty carts inside. I hesitate before I shove one in my mouth. At least I hesitated. I make a firm plan to lay off tomorrow. Besides, pushing all this stuff around has to burn calories.
After four more trips, we stop by the optical department. “Do you know your prescription?” I ask Craig. “You don’t like contacts, but maybe we should grab some just in case.”
“I have my spare pair of glasses,” he says. “If I break them both, I’ll just die.”
“Solid plan,” I say. “But maybe we should take the prescription glasses that weren’t picked up, in case a pair works for you or someone else in the fairgrounds.”
Once we’ve emptied those cabinets, I spot a display of reading glasses. I’d been meaning to go to the eye doctor before zombies, but this will have to do. I rip open a three-pack of low magnification, don a pair, and move to the optical counter. Though the light is dim here, I can read the fine print on a brochure without squinting. I inspect myself in a countertop mirror. The glasses are tortoiseshell, vaguely cat eye shaped, and don’t look horrible. I tilt my head, then smile. Unfortunately, they also magnify wrinkles.
“Finally giving in?” Tom asks from behind me.
I rip them off. “I guess. We should probably grab a bunch for all the old folks, me included.”
Tom motions to the glasses in my hand. “Let me see them on.”
I shake my head, cheeks warming.
“C’mon, let me see,” he says with a huge smile. “Pretty please?”
I stick them on for a split-second, then pull them off. “There.”
“They look cute.”
I wave a hand, looking everywhere but at him. “Pretty sure I was nine the last time I looked cute. But thanks.”
I stick two pairs in my jacket pocket. Tom helps throw more into my cart, and I avoid eye contact until my face cools. He’s wearing his coat again, which means I don’t make an ass out of myself by drooling on him.
“The trucks out front are full, and they’re loading the back with forklifts,” he says when we’re done. “What else is there to do?”
“We’re supposed to grab non-food things that might be useful but aren’t in pallets.”
Mitch lifts a fist as a pallet of tampons rolls past. “Praise Goddess, now don’t forget the coffee!” she calls after it, then turns to us. “We might need to oversee the coffee thing ourselves.”
Barry rushes through the entrance, then strides for us at a worrying pace. “Rose, Tom, someone thinks they heard Deb on the radio. A call for help, maybe. But they can’t confirm and there’s been nothing else.”
The entirety of Costco seems to spin for an instant, and I grab Craig’s arm to stay upright. The kids are with Deb.
19
CLARA
The front of Bueno Burrito is tables and chairs, the back a long serving counter where food was made to order. I turn to the windows, breath coming in gasps. They saw us for sure, as did the ones by the trucks. The closest group is visible and moving this way, and the increasing hum likely means the rest aren’t far behind. Marquez turns the door lock, though glass won’t hold them for long. Behind the serving counter, a door opens into a dark storeroom, where our flashlights illuminate a doorless office, shelves of packaging supplies, and an emergency exit. Jesse carefully cracks the exit door and peers through the small space into daylight. After a moment, he pushes the door wider. It opens a few more inches before it clangs to a stop against something.
A quick look reveals an alleyway that runs between this building and the gas station behind. Jesse presses his face through the opening. “The street looks pretty clear over there, but the door won’t open.”
He throws himself against the metal. Marquez joins in, and the door opens another half inch before it stops for good, leaving a space of less than six inches. Not enough room to escape.
Kevin swipes his sweaty brown hair off his forehead, eyes strangely lit. “I can get them to move. I’ll pull them the other way.”
“No,” Deb says. “Everyone stays behind the counter. If we have to, we move into here.”
“I ran track at the U of O,” Kevin says. “I can do it.”
He spins for the serving counter with us at his heels. The first of the Lexers stands at the windows, and more are closing the distance. Kevin drops his small pack to the floor. “When they’re gone, you guys run for the street.”
“Don’t,” Jesse says. “We’ll wait it out. If we lock the storeroom door, we’re good until someone comes.”
“There’s no lock.”
“What?” Jared asks.
Holly and I run for the door. There’s an empty hole where a lock should be, as if it were in the process of being replaced, and the handle is the kind that doesn’t have a latch or strike plate—push to open from this side, pull to open from the storeroom.
Sweat coasts down my back as we return to the front. “Broken,” I say. “But maybe we can block it.”
“Dude.” Kevin’s deep brown eyes regard us calmly. Solemnly. “I can do this.” He points the way we came in. “If I can’t get through, I’ll climb that tree and distract them. I can stay up there for hours until you get help.”
I stare at the tall fir tree across the parking lot. Fifteen zombies hit the glass to our right, where the windows face Bed, Bath, and Beyond across the lot. Rotted hands and heads thud, leaving smears behind.
“I have to go now, or it won’t work,” Kevin says. “I’m going.”
Jesse claps his shoulder. “Be careful.”
Kevin flashes his pearly white teeth. “You and Marquez owe me a bottle of whiskey tonight.”
Marquez grins. “You do this, and we’ll get you a bar’s worth of whiskey.”
“Yeah, you will.” Kevin pulls the knife he wears on his belt. “Open the door and lock it. Then hide until they follow me.”
Deb moves in front of him, her mouth a line. “I don’t like this, Kev. Your dad asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“It’s not safe,” Amy says, fingers gripping his jacket sleeve.
Kevin pulls away. “This is what he would’ve done.” Amy and Deb exchange a glance, but they don’t argue as he walks to the door. He takes a breath. “Ready.”
Jesse and Marquez shove open the door. Kevin is out a second later, dodging hands as he weaves through ten bodies. Once the door is locked, we duck behind the serving counter. Outside, Kevin stands on a sedan roof and shouts something I can’t hear over the hum. Most of the Lexers turn from the glass to trudge his way. He jumps from sight and reappears on a car farther away, his voice fainter. He glances over his shoulder and does a double take. A new pack has appeared on Coburg Road, behind and to his right.
“He won’t make the tree,” Jesse says. “No way he can.”
“Fucking Kevin.” Deb circles around the counter for the door, then cracks it open enough to lean out. “Kevin! Back here! Get back here!”
Kevin gazes at Deb over the closest zombie heads. Glances over his shoulder again. Measuring, computing. He turns toward the tree.
“Don’t,” Holly whispers.
“Kevin!” Deb screams, then slams and locks the door when dozens of zombies come into view at the side windows, heading straight for her.
Kevin glides down the back of the sedan and leaps into the lot, then takes off. The new pack on the street veers his way. If every Lexer were behind him, he’d be fine, because he wasn’t kidding—the guy can run. But he didn’t account for the diagonal path of the street Lexers, and by the time he reaches the tree, they’ve closed around him.
“Fuck,” Jesse whispers. “Climb!”
Kevin’s head and arms appear above the bodies. His shoulders come next, then his torso, his waist. There’s nothing obvious to hold on to, but he’s making his way up. I let out my breath, watch him scramble higher, kicking the hands that grab his calves.
“That crazy motherfucker,” Deb mutters. “He’s doing—”
Kevin slides down a few inches when a Lexer snags his boot, and he hugs the tree trunk while his other foot flails for purchase. When hands latch onto that boot, my fingers dig into the counter the way his dig into bark. Slowly, slowly, he inches downward. He hugs the tree tighter, his mouth open in a shout I can’t hear, and then he drops into the pack.
Though my drumming heart is loud in my ears, his scream makes it through. It’s shrieking and plaintive and so despairing that Holly grabs my hand while we huddle under the counter, until the only sound is hands pounding glass.
The interior of the restaurant has grown three shades darker. I risk a glance above the counter. Bodies pack the windows, blocking daylight. Even with Kevin as a distraction, they haven’t forgotten us, and they won’t forget unless something tastier comes along. A loud pop sounds over the hisses, and a diagonal crack races across one of the large windows. The next pop is followed by shattering glass.
A half dozen Lexers land on the tile floor. More follow them down and then rise to their feet. We run for the storeroom, slamming the door behind us. It’s pitch black but for dim light through the circular hole where the lock should be. I hate the dark, and my panic increases until Jared clicks on his flashlight, illuminating the metal shelving and small office. A table and chairs sit in the far corner beside cubbies for employee belongings.
Holly races to the shelves and rips open a paper-wrapped stack of napkins, then plugs them into the door’s hole. “So they don’t see the light,” she explains.
Jesse grabs a chair, but it’s too short to wedge under the handle. Deb, Amy, and I try to move the desk from the office, but it must have been built in there; it won’t fit out the doorway. Jared and Marquez hold the storeroom door against the inevitable barrage of bodies. It comes a second later, thumping them forward for an instant.
Another flashlight beam materializes, this one wielded by Jesse. He hands it to me. “Hold this while we figure out the door.”
I can’t help but think my fear is why he gave me the light, especially when he touches my shoulder before he leaves with Nora’s light to guide them. I shine it around the room, looking for anything that could help, then train it on the door when Marquez yelps. It stays open an inch until he and Jared slam it into place, and I notice the hydraulic door closer at the top of the doorframe.
I didn’t particularly enjoy the active shooter drills in high school, where we practiced barricading doors against crazed gunmen, but Dad always asked what we’d learned, and he usually had another tip to add. I unbuckle my belt, detach my holster and knife sheath, and pull the leather through my belt loops.
“What are you doing?” Holly asks.
“Locking that door closer thing.” I hand her the light. “Hold this so I can see?”
I drag a chair to Jared’s side and step onto the seat. The door closer is a hinge made of two metal arms that fold into a V when the door is closed and extend into one long arm when it’s opened. I loop my belt around the metal arm bolted to the wall and tighten the leather through the buckle, then wrap the belt around both metal arms until there’s only a short tail left. I thread that through the middle of the loop and pull tight, using all my weight to make certain it holds.
The door slams again, and Marquez and Jared are thrown forward. I leap from the chair, ready to run, but the belt keeps the door from widening more than a few inches before they slam it shut. Jared raises a thumb, his thin face drawn and glistening in the dim light. Jesse and Nora return with a phone book they wedge beneath the door, then metal forks, and whatever else they can find, though everything is destroyed within a few pushes. I hold my gun to shoot whatever comes through if the belt breaks. Beside me, Holly grips her pistol, legs spread.
“Someone will come,” Deb says, though she doesn’t dare take her eyes off Marquez and Jared.
“When, though?” Jesse mutters near my ear.
We watch the door open and close. When Jesse and Deb take the next shift, Holly turns to me. “What if they don’t come in time?”
She winces when the door opens wider than before, then opens even more at the Lexers’ next push. I shine my light at the door closer. My belt is still there, but something is wrong. I move in for a better view—my belt is there, but the door closer’s bolts have detached from the frame.
“It’s broken!” I yell, my voice shrill with fear.
Amy joins them at the door, leaning past Deb to push with both hands. On the next inward swing, an arm reaches through. “Push it out!” Deb yells.
We try, but the hand grapples with ours. Jared hacks at the elbow while he clutches the wrist, like a chef separating a chicken leg from the thigh. He braces his boot on the wall and twists the forearm until it separates from the biceps, then flings the arm into the corner.
Before the door can close, two more take its place. Below those, a woman presses her face to the crack. Holly shoves her awl into the woman’s eye. “I can fit through the door!” she shouts in my ear, then pulls me away from the noise.
I stare at her. “What? No, you can’t.”
“The back door.” Holly points into the darkness at the other end of the storeroom. “I think I can fit. If I can’t move what’s blocking it, maybe I can get to the trucks and draw them away.”
I shake my head. Holly nods in return, face pinched, then disappears into the dark. I arrive as she opens the exit door, letting in a blinding beam of daylight. Once our eyes adjust, we peer outside. The alley is empty. We can’t see the parking lot, but Coburg Road seems clear again—the zombies are either eating Kevin or beating on the other side of the storeroom door.
Holly turns sideways and tests fitting half her torso and head through the space, then steps back inside. It’s a tight squeeze, but it’s possible. Jesse and Nora appear from the darkness. “What are you doing?” Jesse asks.
Holly explains quickly, though Nora’s head is shaking before she finishes. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Jesse asks.
Holly drops her small pack and wedges herself into the crack. Jesse grabs her arm. “I’m the only one who fits,” she argues. “We have to do something. What if they get in?”
We’re dead if they do—Jesse knows that as well as the rest of us. At the other end of the storeroom, the door thuds, thuds, thuds like a horrible heartbeat. I don’t want Holly outside alone, but if the worst happens in here, at least she might survive.
Nora cups Holly’s cheek, her expression close to despair. “Be careful.”
Holly nods quickly. Jesse tightens his hold on her jacket. “I can do it,” she says with a glance toward the alley.
“That’s what Kevin said, and he’s dead,” Jesse growls. I’ve never seen him like this—frustrated and on the verge of tears. “Dead, Holly.”
“I’m serious, Jess. Let me go!”
“You’re supposed to be the smart one, but this is stupid as shit.”
“Your mom,” Holly says with a weak smile. “Let go, Jess. Please. How long can we hold the door?”
Jesse’s fist loosens. He steps back. “Don’t die,” he says, voice cracking.
Holly eases her left arm and leg outside. When she turns her head my way, her eyes are dark, full of fear she didn’t let Nora and Jesse see. I touch her hand, and Holly clasps it before she continues. There’s a moment where I think she won’t fit, where I almost pull her back in, but she twists her head, wincing as her ear scrapes the rough metal edge of the door, and then she’s on the other side.
Holly inspects behind the door. “There’s a dumpster in the way. I’ll see if I can move it.” She disappears for what seems like a year, then returns. “It’s wedged tight. I’m going to the trucks.”
I pass her pack through the space. She throws the bag over her shoulders, draws her pistol, and straightens to full height, which seems even smaller than usual. “Take care of Jess,” she whispers, her lips barely moving, and sprints for the street.
I watch until she’s gone, then pull the door with shaking hands, leaving it open an inch in case she returns. Jesse stares at the door, then runs for the opposite end of the room when the thuds and moans increase in volume. I follow, lifting my hammer on the way.
At the door, I pull a Lexer arm into the storeroom to expose its shoulder, then slam the bone with the hammer. Once, twice, until it crunches and the arm goes limp. Jared cleaves through the damaged flesh with a machete and tosses the severed appendage into the dark. Already, another takes its place. I lift my hammer and start on the next. Maybe this will never stop, maybe we’ll die no matter how hard we try. But I’ll go down stubborn, just like Dad said.
20
ROSE
There’s no question we’ll go. Mitch and Craig, too. Barry nods, and we move swiftly for the doors. My hands shake, my fear screams, but I focus on the biggest problem: how to get to the kids quickly. They’re only two miles down Coburg Road, but it’s blocked by cars. My babies are so close, and I’m powerless to help them.
Outside, two men stand at the van with a map that blows in the breeze despite their attempts keep it still. One traces a finger along the paper. “Where’s Coburg Road clear again?” the other asks Barry.
“Below Cal Young Road,” Barry says.
The map flaps again. I want to rip it from their hands. We don’t have time to plot our route, especially when that route could change depending on zombies. It could be too late already. That thought brings me close to a mental snap, and I snap aloud, “Forget the map! I can get us there.”
