Wormwood Dawn (Episode IV) (7 page)

Dan rounded the corner into the main area, aiming his shotgun in front of him. He swept it from side to side as he scanned the shadows, his heart racing for some reason. But there was nothing. All was quiet here. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that the mutant killer would pop out of the darkness at any time.

There were still cigarettes left behind the counter, he noticed. He grabbed a pack and tore it open with shaking, anticipating hands. He grabbed a lighter from the display and lit one, feeling the heavenly rush of nicotine as it entered his lungs.

“Oh yeah,” he whispered as he exhaled. “That’s right.”

He grabbed several packs that were left over, stuffing them in his pockets, and headed toward the shelves. Though most of them overturned and empty, there were a few bags of jerky, some candy bars, and shit tons of gum and hard candy. He grabbed everything he could; filling his pockets with whatever would fit.

The coolers along the back wall caught his attention. Again, they were mostly empty, with the exception of random brands of bottled water, rotten bologna, and a few six packs of shitty beer. He immediately reached through the broken door and grabbed a bottle, cracking it open and guzzling it. Though it tasted like shit, it hit the spot.

“From the land of sky blue waters,
waters,
” he sang.

A sudden thump in the back room startled Dan as he finished the beer. He set the bottle on the floor, bringing up his shotgun and pointing it at the swinging doors by the counter. There was another thump, a dragging sound, and a moan.

Shit,
he thought, ducking down and moving along the only standing shelf. He stopped at the end, crouching and peeking around the shelf’s edge, and waited. The shuffling continued, growing louder by the second, still followed by the dragging sound. Dan’s heart began thumping, and his skin crawled as he anticipated the inevitable. He would wait to cock the shotgun, though. There was no reason to put any zombies on alert.

The swinging doors flapped open, banged against the walls, and flapped closed again. Dan could see the withered hand of something behind them; something that had pushed them open. The thumping sounded again, and the doors flapped open a second time. Behind them stood a strange creature; a type he had never seen before.

It was rotted and covered in fungus; half of it, anyway. The flesh was torn midway through its chest, with the left half of its human skin hanging off and dragging on the floor behind it. The exposed flesh underneath was white and sinewy, appearing as hard as boiled leather. The creature’s face was split down the middle, and the open gash was lined on either side with hooked fangs that overlapped in a twisted and horrifying fashion. Dan gulped, slinking back behind the shelf, waiting for the creature to make the first move.

He heard the creature step forward, dragging its flesh behind it. He moved to the opposite end of the shelf, peeking around the other side as the creature stalked into the main area. Dan watched the dragging flesh in revulsion, seeing that the fingers of its flapping hand still clutched at the empty air, and the remaining veins that fed it still pumped an odd, black fluid as they searched around like feelers.

Jesus Christ,
he thought.

This was definitely something new, and it was something that he would eliminate right now. He cocked his shotgun, rising up just as the creature turned in his direction. The face split open, exposing a long snake-like tongue that flicked around in the air. The maw opened wide, and the creature charged; gurgling and growling as it stumbled forward.

Dan fired, blasting the creature back in a spray of black goo. It slammed against the counter, knocking the displays over, and fell to the ground. Dan approached, coking his shotgun, pointing it down at the creature as it writhed and struggled to return to its feet. He fired again, exploding its head and splattering it against the counter.

But the creature still writhed.

Dan stepped back, cocking once more. The veins of the creature’s flesh began crawling toward him, snaking their way in his direction. He fired, splatting them against the tile floor. But as he cocked his shotgun again, he saw the unthinkable.

The creature’s human flesh seemed to take on a life of its own. It peeled its way off of the white, bony frame, slurping on the floor as its gelatinous mass crawled toward him.

“What the holy fuck!?” Dan said.

He backed away, reaching down to retrieve his five pack. The creature’s flesh continued its movement, rolling and flopping in his direction. Mortified, Dan ran away, ducking through the broken window and racing to the Hummer.

He floored it, tearing away from the gas station; his mind focused on the sight of the strange, fleshy blob. As he turned onto the highway, a lump rose in his throat. He swerved, narrowly missing a group of abandoned cars, just as a mouthful of bile spewed out and splattered on the passenger side.

“
Fuck!”
he cursed. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”

After catching his breath and wiping his mouth, he gunned it. He cracked open another beer, popping a few pieces of jerky. It felt like Vicodin time, too, so he reached in the back to fetch the art bag. The bottle was full and ready for consumption, and he did so happily.

As the landscape passed around him, he barely noticed the many columns of smoke that floated up from the city ahead. But, as he saw them, he knew it could only mean one thing.

Bloomington was a shit hole, and he would have to search like hell to find his friends.

If they were still alive.

The intersection at route 46 was blocked. Six fire trucks were parked together, having been attempting to put out a multicar fire when the shit hit the fan. Though they appeared to have been successful, the number of bodies on the ground told Dan that the aftermath brought a massive wave of Shamblers that had torn the living to pieces.

As he slowly drove through, he noticed the oddly advanced state of decomposition of the dead. They were dried husks, ripped apart and mostly rotted away. It was as if it had been months since the infection.

It couldn’t have been that long.

As far as Dan knew, he had only been held captive for a few weeks. Was it possible that it had been longer? It didn’t seem any colder out than it should be this time of year. It wasn’t even winter yet—technically—and it should only be sometime around Thanksgiving; even earlier.

“What the fuck,” he mumbled.

He was beginning to feel the Vicodin kick in, and it was a comforting feeling. The beer tasted like shit, but that didn’t matter. He probably shouldn’t be drinking anyway. He had a job to do. On the other hand, there weren’t many hours of daylight left. His first priority would be finding a place to hide out for the night. It would do no good stumbling around in the dark. He had to find shelter.

There were plenty of hotels in this area; mostly crumbled or burned out. It seemed like the city of Bloomington had dealt pretty poorly with the chaos. Looting and rioting, coupled with the rampant destruction and violence of the infected had taken its toll. B-town was an utter Saigon clone.

Even the asphalt was crumbled, telephone poles were toppled, and a not a single power cable was still intact. Dan hadn’t remembered hearing any explosions before, but it really looked like Bloomington had been bombed out. Again, Saigon came to mind as he watched the destruction go by.

There was only one explanation; Gephardt had destroyed everything, gathered up the remaining people, and bombed the shit out of what was left. The only question was where the mercs were keeping the people.

Thinking that the best place to get a good view of the city was right downtown, Dan did a U-turn and headed down Walnut Street. There were plenty of multi-story parking garages around Fountain Square where he could scout around, and possibly even find shelter. It was as good an idea as any.

Fortunately for Dan, the southbound lanes were mostly clear. The traffic had clogged only the northbound lanes—which were actually a different street—presumably due to a massive exodus of people trying to get the hell out of Dodge. Still, there were cars here and there, abandoned or overturned, or both. The townhouses and businesses were sacked and crumbling. Even the trees along the road had been burned or toppled.

Dan felt odd as he drove. Usually, this section of town was literally clogged with traffic, making any attempts at getting downtown last twice as long as the distance should require. But now, the dead silence and utter stillness was overwhelming.

To the left, the Indian guy’s liquor store stood out. Its red canopy was still there; red as could be, and it brick walls were still intact. However, the store front was demolished, and its windows were gone.

He wouldn’t even bother stopping. Indian guy was probably dead, anyway.

Ahead, the taller buildings began to come into view. Dan could see the parking garages, corporate offices, and the old town hall. It was a disaster area, as he completely expected it to be. Here, cars were piled up into a maze of steel. Many of them were crashed into the sides of the surrounding buildings. There was an overturned bus lying diagonally across an intersection, and another fire truck halfway down the block that had somehow ramped up over top of a garbage truck.

He wondered how many people were huddled up, frightened, in the loft apartments above. Were any of them watching him?

He pulled the Hummer into the entrance of a five story parking garage, breaking through the flimsy barrier arm that blocked the way. No ticket for him today. Sorry. He had shit to do and no parking money.

The garage itself was dark and damp. The tires of the Hummer squealed slightly as he turned, making eerie echoes throughout. He climbed up the ramps, corkscrewing all the way up to the roof, where there was a helicopter sprawled out in pieces. The bodies of six people hung out of it, or lie around it. It had apparently crashed while attempting to land, or take off—it wasn’t obvious.

Dan pulled the Hummer into a parking place and sat for a moment listening to the silence and contemplating his next move. The roof seemed as safe a place as any. From up here, he could probably see a fairly good distance, and take note of any movements or gatherings of Gephardt vehicles. Any large concentrations of them would probably indicate some kind of base. But, he would need something to look through.

He stepped out, going around to the back of the Hummer, and opened the doors. There were plenty of rifles stacked in their places; two of them having good scopes that he could use. He took one and climbed onto the Hummer’s roof, perching himself near the sunroof, and began scanning.

The entire city was pretty much the same. Buildings were crumbled, the streets were clogged with abandoned cars, and numerous bodies lie rotting in the open. He kept picturing Saigon for some reason. He wasn’t sure why. But he picture attractive little Vietnamese girls riding around on bicycles, posing as prostitutes so they get to enemy troops and blow the shit out of them as they gathered around for a piece of
nummuh one fucky.

He chuckled to himself. Full Metal Jacket.

To the east, he saw the university. Its buildings were pretty much the same as the rest of the town, but some of them seemed to be fairly intact. They were those just on the edge of town; the tech buildings, he knew. There, students ran server farms, and learned all of the fun stuff that would eventually turn most of them into hackers and basement-dwelling, liberal dipshits.

But now, it seemed, they had a new use.

What a perfect place for a base, he thought. The surrounding dorms could be converted into prisons, and the technology departments would be good places to set up communication centers. They could be rigged up using the nearby solar arrays—arrays that were meant for education purposes.

The university was definitely his goal. Now, he wondered, how could he get there? There would no doubt be cameras, patrols, and probably thermal imaging UAVs in the area. Gephardt didn’t fuck around, and they had a higher budget than the actual military—thanks to bleeding heart dipshits.

He lowered the rifle, sadly thinking of Drew, Jake, and Vincent locked up in some shit hole. He hoped that Jake was at least being given the meds he needed to live. If not, then the poor guy was probably in a diabetic coma; if they were even feeding them.

Helpless, he slid back into the sunroof and sat quietly in the back seat. He opened another beer, popped another Vicodin, and munched on some jerky. There were still plenty of daylight hours left for him to do a little scavenging, and some real food was in order. He could leave the Hummer here and go down on foot—that was probably the safest bet.

The Hummer would be alright here.

He got out, looking at the cars that were parked around. Though he knew none of them would have the keys in them, they were mostly small cars, and he could easily push them across the ramp as a barrier. Anyone who attempted to drive up onto the roof would be blocked and would have to get out. Then, he could shoot them.

“Fuck it,” he said.

It was pointless. Zombies didn’t drive cars, and they were the biggest concern. There was no reason for any human to actually drive up here, even mercs. They probably knew he was here anyway, and were scoping him out, waiting for him to stand still so they put a bullet through his head.

Dan turned to the east, displaying his middle finger to anyone who was watching. He held it up for several seconds, moving it left and right for all to see. He ended it with a scowling crotch grab, and started down the ramp. He could scavenge for a few hours, then return and sleep it off in the Hummer.

He kept the M4A1, deciding it would be the best all-purpose choice. He checked it over as he descended; making sure the bolt was nice and lubed. It wasn’t sighted for him, but he hadn’t planned on doing any sniping.

The staircase to the ground level appeared to his right. He decided to take it, as it would be easier than staggering down a long ass ramp. The door was torn off its hinges, and Dan approached it cautiously, peering down the stairwell and listening for any movement. It seemed clear, so he quietly padded down the stairs.

The landing on the ground floor was covered in dried blood and shriveled flesh. He stepped around the carnage, holding his breath as he pushed open the exit door. Whatever happened here, the remains of it had been nicely cleaned up—most of them anyway. He wouldn’t worry about it.

After crossing the shadowy ground floor, he stepped out into the evening sun. The entire town was deathly quiet, and he couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He stopped, trying to remember what was in the area. He needed something substantial to eat, and some clean water to drink. The only thing he could think of was the nearby foreign grocery store—he couldn’t remember the name.

Dan stuck close the buildings as he hurried to the south. The abandoned cars along the road offered good cover from the other direction, and he could duck behind them if he needed to. When he found an alley, he took it, feeling more comfortable in the narrow spaces than out in the open. There was always the danger of Shamblers—or worse—hiding in the shadows, but he would rather face the creatures than be picked off by some sniper.

There was something ahead, he saw, tucked into a small alcove near a restaurant’s back door. It was a body, mutated but still. The skin was covered in fungus and ripped to shreds, and the thing’s innards were spilled out around it. The head had been crushed, too, and what was left of the creature’s brain was smeared across the pavement.

Dan scowled, wondering what had killed it. His only guess was a Stalker of some kind.

“Fuck,” he said, moving on.

He reached the end of the alley that opened onto 2
nd
Street, leaning against the side of the building to scope out the area ahead. Trash blew around, and the landscaped trees swayed in the wind, but there didn’t seem to be any other movement. Keeping his eyes on the area around him, he made a mad dash across the street, leaping over a fallen light post, and crouched behind a red sedan.

No gunshots. Good.

He turned and crept along the edge of the buildings, where the canopies were still intact, and made his way down the block. There, on the other side of the street, was the small foreign grocery. It was exposed, situated on the corner, but seemed safe. Its one full length window was smashed out, as well as the door, but there were no items scattered around its entrance.

Apparently desperate looters had left it mostly untouched.

He dashed across the street again, ducking into the door’s alcove.  Again, there were no gunshots. He turned and peered inside, listening and watching the shadows. When he neither saw nor heard movement, he stepped inside, nearly gagging on the horrendous smell that greeted him.

“Jesus,” he mumbled.

As he expected, the smell of rotting food was rampant. Even from his viewpoint, he could see the meat cases filled with bloated packs of rotting meat, and the subtle hint of movement that he realized was a small horde of rats. He scowled, but knew they were probably too busy to pay any attention to him.

Dan went straight for the canned food section. The shelves were still stacked with just about everything he could imagine. Despite the wide selection, he focused on the canned meats. He would need protein, and lots of it, if he was going to do battle. Smiling, he scanned the shelf. There was canned chicken, canned salmon, canned tuna, canned… squid?

“Gross,” he said, grabbing two cans of chicken.

He stuffed them in his pockets, also grabbing a few cans of salmon. He then went to the end of the aisle where he saw a display of cheap can openers. He grabbed one, stuffed it in his back pocket, and continued on.

The drink case was still intact; full of bottled water of various brands, exploded milk cartons that stunk like shit, and various craft beers he had never heard of. He grabbed a six pack, of course, cracking one open right there in the store.

It was a nice refreshing porter, bittersweet and smooth. It was a stark contrast to the piss he had found at the gas station. There was one good thing about college douchebag towns, he thought; they were full of good beers.

He downed the beer, opened another and guzzled it, and continued on. He crept down the aisle with his remaining beers in tow, feeling the weight of the food cans in his pockets. From the corner of his eye, down another aisle, he saw a handgun lying on the floor. He grunted, creeping over to it. There was a pool of blood nearby that led to a corpse propped up against the shelves. Its head was deformed and bloody, with a huge, gaping hole in the top. Its left hand was open and lying near the gun.

Someone had blown their brains out.

Dan leaned in to look at the name tag. It said,
Khalid.

“Sorry, buddy,” Dan whispered, grabbing the handgun.

It was a .45, with eight rounds left in the magazine.